A Moment of Indulgence
by ScintillatingTart
Summary: The course of great love never did run smooth... [Carson/Hughes primarily, AU, rated M for shenanigans]
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Downton Abbey, nor would I lay any claim to it. [insert standard 'don't sue me, it's only fanfic' message here]

It's been a right while since I've turned out anything resembling a new story, instead, I keep regurgitating Elspeth's till everyone's sick to death of the coffee shop AU. Anyway, I thought I'd start something new and different, completely AU and speculative, but with elements of our normal Downton universe as well. Just think of it as my brain going mad on a hamster wheel of doom.

* * *

A Moment of Indulgence  
by ScintillatingTart

* * *

I:

There was nothing to be done for it; the young Lord Robert needed a valet and thus, Charles Carson was pulled from his post as under butler and dressed to look a fool instead. He was irritated that Lady Grantham had been so pointed as to insist on their lovely nature of companionship and easy demeanor as a virtue in the line of work, and instead prayed that it would be over soon as the young master had found a bride and married.

Of course, that had been over a year ago, and nothing had changed. Lord Robert was digging his heels in, flirting with every pretty woman, pretending he didn't have the missive of money hovering over him night and day. Nearly every eligible woman of wealth had already turned down his impeccable pedigree with a gentle rebuke of, "Downton Abbey is so draughty." They were not fools, nor were they to be suffered as such.

It had been suggested that, if the Season did not produce a worthwhile match, Lord Robert should be sent to the wilds of the United States of America in order to secure 'new money'. Charles was not looking forward to that journey, any more than he cared to spend so much time rushing up and back over London.

He was tired of the endless, relentless money hunting, the games and the primping with purpose. He was tainted by association –

And he was tired of it. Everything. He was tired of everything. It had been entirely too long since he'd had a lick of freedom – not that singing and dancing on the stage was particularly pleasing to him. But a chance to breathe the air and be one's own man… it had been far too long since he'd been Lord Grantham's creature.

He wanted the love of a woman – good or otherwise. He did not care for prostitutes, the lifestyle, the way they did not care for themselves between men in many cases, and he did not care to service his own needs, except in the direst of circumstances. The vicar's beady eyes made him feel such shame whenever he did, so he refrained.

There had been two women in his life – Alice, a fellow performer, and Lily, a soft-spoken housemaid who had died from pneumonia several years before. Alice had been a right mistake, and he and Lily had made plans to leave service when the time was right, going off to work in a factory and make a family together.

She had been a dear woman, his dark-haired Lily, with her grey eyes and her easy smile. But he kept her hidden away in a small box beneath his bed, their meager courtship nothing more than a painful memory now.

Charles finished airing Lord Robert's waistcoat – it had been suffused with acrid smoke and whiskey from last evening's gathering – and readied it for dinner. They were having a small party to dine, including the young Lady Ida Westbrooke, daughter of Viscount Traille, who it was rumored had nearly 80,000 a year in income from her father's estate – it was not entailed, as Traille had only sired the one daughter and the end of the line was at hand.

But he wasn't meant to speculate on such things. Visitors meant visiting servants, and it was said that Lady Westbrooke's maid was a fair, spritely sort of a woman. He would be entertained, at the least, if she was not as vulgar as many indiscreet lady's maids were.

Lord Robert breezed into his dressing room and said, "Carson, we must be sure to impress tonight – Mama is of a mind to ask Lady Westbrooke to stay, assuming she is willing. I must absolutely give her no reason to doubt my voracity or interest."

"Yes, m'lord," Charles said gravely. "You will be cut and polished as a diamond."

* * *

Elsie Hughes smiled and touched up her mistress's hair. "Now, Ida, love, you mustn't encourage Lord Grantham straight out," she said softly. "No matter your Da and his parents have seen fit to throw you two together as a good match."

Ida flipped out her fan and fluttered it with a frown on her lips. "Aunt Elsie, must men only see money when they look at me?" she sighed in dismay. "Just once, I'd like a kind man to just smile at me for being lovely and kind, rather than expecting me to turn out my pockets to please them. There is more to life than just money, you know. So much more."

"Aye, I know," Elsie agreed with a small smile. "Although I've never known a day where money could not purchase everything my life is lacking."

Ida giggled and said, "Really? How shocking – would it purchase the services of a man to… treat you kindly?"

Elsie rolled her eyes and tucked away the last of the hairpins in her niece's hair. "You are incorrigible," she scolded. She had been Ida's maid since the young woman had been little more than a babe in the nursery; as her mother's illegitimate sister by way of Lord Allenby, she must be dealt with somehow, and as a maid was certainly the easiest – or so it was thought. Elsie, for her part, loved and indulged Ida as she would her own child, had she been fortunate enough to have such a thing, and she wanted nothing but the best for her charge. "I have no need of a man sniffing about my skirts; he might not like what's beneath them," she declared roughly. "And, as for you…"

"There is nothing beneath my skirts of any worth, aside from my legs," Ida commented dryly. "And the illusive virtue everyone warns of. I shan't even think of giving that away – even as my legs are quite capable of carrying me in the other direction."

"Very good, but you must be respectable about it and completely above reproach," Elsie warned gently. "Else your father sack me for my rogue ideas."

"He can't sack you," Ida huffed. "I pay you, not he. You are my dearest auntie, and I do so love you – he will do nothing of the kind. Sack you indeed. I never."

It warmed the cockles of Elsie's heart to hear those words; she'd had several proposals (two from the same gentleman farmer) of marriage, and she had denied them all, preferring to do her diligent duty to the young woman she had all but raised when her sister had died. All the years of wondering 'what if' melted away, and she merely smiled indulgently at her niece. "Say what you will, love, but your father will have something to say if you are anything but a properly behaved young lady."

Ida huffed. "He just wants me to marry and carry a grandson to term as quickly as possible to secure the dynasty," she muttered. "He doesn't much care who to; hence why I'm here. Anyone seeking a good fortune must be in want of a wife – as much as any young man of considerable fortune. It is a horrific double standard that Jane Austen would laugh in the face of."

"You are no Austen heroine," Elsie warned her, "and you'll not serve yourself well by harboring these dangerous romantic delusions of yours. When the time comes, a man of good standing will propose marriage and you will accept him. It is the way of your world."

"And what of yours?" Ida asked as Elsie finished clasping her necklace. The girl with her platinum blonde curls and her cherub-like face whirled around and peered at Elsie expectantly. "When I am married, you will not wish to come with me – you must, as such, find yourself a husband and settle down."

"I'm very much afraid, love, that my days of being attractive to any man of good standing are long finished," Elsie said with a sad smile, remembering how it had hurt to be forced to attend Joe Burns's wedding when he had so earnestly sought her hand only months before. "I am far too old to think of changing my ways now."

"Oh, but Aunt Elsie – you've not had very much happiness in your life," Ida said softly. "I would give up most anything in order for you to be happy even for a moment – so, if you ever find a gentleman who will make you happy, merely say the word and I will support you in any way I may… even if it is only releasing you from service and giving you enough money to make a start. You would be a darling mother and I should love it ever so much if you could be one!"

"You are quite ridiculous, and I believe a bit mad," Elsie said with a sigh, "but no one could ever accuse you of a lack of affection."

Ida rolled her eyes and huffed. "I suppose we must leave or we shall be quite late for dinner at Downton Abbey," she commented dryly. "I loathe that you must suffer downstairs with the servants, when I wish you could see as I do the lack of depth upstairs."

"Be careful – people will accuse you of harboring dangerous ideas," Elsie murmured, settling a light fur stole around Ida's shoulders. "The bags are loaded in the coach, in case you are invited to stay longer. I will remain in the coach until the invitation is given, then I will assist in unloading."

"Do you really think the invitation will not be extended? That Lord Grantham would shun me?"

"That depends on if you shoot off your mouth," Elsie warned. "Your father has already blessed a union between you and Lord Robert, should it come to that, so you must at least try."

"Fine, but I shan't like him," Ida said. "He will only care for me because I have money enough to save his estates – he flirts with anything in a skirt. I should not care for a man like that."

Elsie followed her charge down to the carriage, donning her gloves and cloak as they went. When they were settled and on their way at last, she said, "You are not required to care for your husband. You will marry him, allow him access to your body for sexual relations, bear him children – hopefully strong sons – and that will be that. Love does not signify."

"I will only marry for great passion," Ida vowed petulantly. In many ways, she was still a child, and Elsie blamed herself for not ruling her with a firmer hand. But the girl was bright, clever, well-read and it was all she could do to keep her from jumping off the roof of the manor to test her own theories of gravity. She could not wait until Ida was married and settled into respectable mantronage.

Then maybe, just maybe, Elsie could worry about her own life for a moment.

* * *

"Carson, do you believe in love at first sight?" Lord Robert inquired. "I merely ask because I was quite struck dumb by Lady Ida's fair beauty this evening – and such a shapely figure. I wonder if her thighs are as shapely as –"

"M'lord, such a question would be better left unsaid," Charles warned darkly.

"Well, anyway, she has such sparkling eyes and such pale hair – like spun silken gold," Lord Robert waxed poetic as Charles helped him into his pajamas. "I am quite in love with her. Now, she has opinions – quite strong ones – which we will have to nip in the bud before she starts a war with Mama, but I can see her happily ensconced at the Abbey with our bevy of flaxen haired children…"

"My lord," Charles said, "the young lady may not see your suit with similar equanimity."

"Of course she will – I will offer her a grander title than she will inherit, and I will give her the gift of life here…"

"And if such enticements aren't enough?" Charles had seen the dazzling young woman for himself, and had heard every word Lord Robert had reported from the dinner table. Lady Westbrooke was a firebrand, full of dangerous ideas and beauty to go with them. In the same room with Lady Grantham, it was likely to be a combustible situation.

"She will, of course, see things my way," Robert said cheerfully.

"My lord, I would prepare yourself to be rebuffed –"

"Oh, no, my beautiful Lady Westbrooke would never turn me down," Lord Robert laughed.

Charles was far less certain of such a thing. The girl would throw his young master aside, and no joke – the only question was how quickly the inevitable would occur.

* * *

Elsie was given a very junior seat next to a very intimidating man who she was told was Lord Robert Crawley's valet. She glanced at him, taking in his stony demeanor, and then looked back at her plate. It was always the same when she ate with the other servants away from home; they looked on her as an object of foreign design and alien ways, and mayhaps they were correct in that assumption. At Innsbroke House, she ranked nearly as high as the housekeeper, who she was great friends with. Here, everyone treated her with suspicion and contempt.

The butler blessed the food and everyone was served a hearty helping of beef shank and boiled potatoes. Elsie ate quickly and efficiently, knowing the moment she was free, she must flee to the room she must share with the most junior housemaid, and rest. There would be much to do in the morning, including ferrying letters to post to Innsbroke House.

The man beside her cleared his throat, and she looked at him, confused. "Pardon?" she murmured.

"I merely asked if the dinner is sufficiently tasty for you, Miss Westbrooke, as you seem to be swallowing it whole," he said, not entirely unkindly.

Elsie set down her fork and bit her lip. "I apologize – it's only, I've so much to do yet before bed," she said softly.

He smiled a little, the dark demeanor leaving his face for a moment. "I understand your pain if anyone does," he confessed. "I am Mr. Carson."

"Elsie Hughes," she introduced herself, then proceeded to tuck back into her food with no more comment.

He was trouble – with a capital T and underscores to prove the point. But she could not help looking shyly at him whenever she could sneak a glance unnoticed. He was tall, broad, and intimidating – but in the way of a man who knew what he was about and would posture until you believed it, as well.

But his voice had done something strangely funny to her insides – she felt flushed and a bit light-headed, just from speaking to him. How was that possible? Or was she more wrought from the journey than she'd anticipated? Perhaps she was coming down with something – yes, that must be it. She was falling ill, she must be.

When dinner was over, she excused herself quickly and retreated to the attics. Ida had decided to undress herself at the evening's end, so Elsie could get some sleep, and she was most grateful for the small kindness.

What she wasn't at all grateful for was waking up in the dead of night in a hot sweat, her hand between her legs. She couldn't recall what she'd been dreaming – aside from that voice in her head, ringing in her ears, pleasure coursing through her body as she awakened to her own sinful touch.

Dear lord, someone was going to think she was anything less than a respectable thirty-two year old woman with no prospects beyond a life of service to Lady Westbrooke! She got up and washed her hands in the basin with shame as she inwardly warred with her desires.

She was not an object of lust and nor ever would she be. She would control herself, and she would not be anything more than the spinster bastard aunt who acted as a lady's maid.

She was worth no more than that distinction.


	2. Chapter 2

II:

* * *

"You've changed your tune, then," Elsie said softly as she corrected the way Ida's bustle lay, tugging at the tapes with brutal force better put to use on something other than clothing. "A few days ago, you were lamenting how dull and stupid Lord Robert Crawley is."

"Perhaps I did rather jump the gun," Ida murmured. "He is quite intelligent, though he takes great pains to hide it from everyone – especially his dear Mama."

"I would not call her dear anymore than I would call a spider a pet," Elsie said with a delicate shudder. "She is quite –"

"Aunt Elsie, he has proposed marriage and I have accepted, pending Papa's approval," Ida said. "So it is quite fixed now." She peered at Elsie sideways as she was helped into her many layers of skirts. "And you must, of course, stay with me until we're quite settled –"

"Of course," Elsie agreed, feeling her heart sink. They'd been at Downton Abbey for nearly a month, and she had been accepted – finally – by the downstairs servants, but her primal reaction to Mr. Carson still concerned her, as it raged through her out of control like wildfire. "You've quite made up your mind."

Ida smiled and said, "I could be quite happy here."

"Of course, petal," Elsie said softly.

"I will be happy here." It sounded like a mantra.

"Are you quite certain?" Elsie challenged. "Are you?"

Ida faltered, then nodded, obviously not trusting her own voice.

"Then I must do everything in my power to support you, love," Elsie promised gently.

* * *

During dinner, Mr. Carson leaned over and said, "I suppose you've heard the good news."

"I've heard the news, but I wouldn't go so far as to say it is good for anyone but Lord Grantham," Elsie muttered under her breath. "I'll not explain – it would be beneath you to have a woman lecture you on rights."

He cleared his throat and mumbled, "I've got to run into the village in the morning – will you accompany me, and we can expound on this fascinating discussion then?"

"Mr. Carson, such an invitation is rather untoward," she warned.

"You've packages to collect for your lady, yes? You can leave ten minutes behind me and we'll meet along the road."

She hesitated, then sighed. "I give in – yes, I will," she agreed quietly.

* * *

"Carson, I think you should be among the first to know – I've proposed marriage to Lady Ida and my suit has been readily accepted by the young lady," Lord Robert said with a small smile on his lips. "We will be moving into Crawley House as soon as the wedding is past, and I should like to keep you on as valet."

Charles's hands stilled for a moment; valet over butler – he felt increasingly let down by life, and he took a deep breath before saying, "If your Lordship means the offer, I should be pleased to accept."

"Of course I mean the offer – you've done me proud, man," Robert said with a grin. "And you've helped me land the most beautiful woman I could ever have hoped to wed."

"I would certainly say so, m'lord," Charles said gravely. "Will Lady Westbrooke keep Miss Hughes on as lady's maid after the wedding?"

Lord Robert turned at eyed him for a long moment, then grinned. "Ah, I see – you've a bit of lust for the Scottish Dragon, then?"

Charles cleared his throat indelicately. "M'lord, such questions are beneath your dignity. We have become friends over the last few weeks – that is all."

"Friends as in discourse of a type or friends as in take her out to the stables and find out if her thighs are as strong as her words?" Lord Robert said, sipping on his brandy and smirking.

"M'lord, the latter is a dismissible offense," Charles said, his face heating up with mortification. Of course, he would not tell Lord Robert that he'd dreamt about Elsie Hughes, smiling and naked as the day she was born, beckoning him straight down the garden path into dark sins that he would never repeat. He'd been unable to sleep without bringing himself to release for two weeks, spilling his seed with her name on his lips – god help him.

"But you've been thinking it – hell, I've been thinking it. Miss Hughes is a prime bit of Scotswoman if ever I've seen one," Lord Robert said. "But she'd never allow me the liberty and I wouldn't force it on her. Not when I'm to wed her Lady."

Charles felt faintly ill – how could Lord Robert sing praises of Miss Hughes and then degrade her in the same breath? "M'lord, I do not think that this conversation is at all appropriate," he said. "Miss Hughes is a woman of your future wife's employ, not a trophy."

Lord Robert laughed and clapped his shoulder. "My dear fellow, when you finally bed her, you'll have to tell me if her pussy is as tight as it might be," he said with amusement. "Because I've no doubt you'll come home to roost far sooner than you think."

Carson's face was furiously red as he left Lord Robert's chambers, though whether from lust, rage, or embarrassment, he could not say.

* * *

"I'm from Argyll originally," Elsie said with a small smile as she walked in step with Mr. Carson, never touching him, nor coming close enough to infer anything if anyone happened to see them. "My mother was in service to a great household – eventually becoming housekeeper. That's how she met my Da." She neglected to elaborate any further on that score, partially because it did no one any good to know that she was a bastard – least of all her.

"My family has been in service at Downton for the last 200 years," Carson said proudly. "My father was Head Groom, and my mother has only recently retired as head cook."

She smiled and said, "I should like to meet your mother – I would like to think she is as kind a woman as her son is a man."

His smile faltered. "I am not a very kind man."

"Aren't you? You've been quite generous to me since I arrived," she said, looking down at the basket in her hands shyly. "Not many would be so kind to a perfect stranger."

"But we're friends, not strangers now," he pointed out. "Or, I should like to think we are –"

"We are," she conceded.

"Then as a friend, allow me the liberty of saying that any man would be very lucky to be gifted your affection, Miss Hughes," he said very softly.

"Oh, Mr. Carson," she breathed, "please don't –"

"That is all I will say on the matter," he said simply. "I will remain, as ever, your loyal friend, should you need one."

"Ida plans to keep me on," Elsie said, clearing her throat and trying to push back her tears. He felt for her in the same way she felt for him – lust, pure plain and simple lust that would get them both dismissed without reference or care. It was almost too much to bear, but she was built of stern stuff. "After the wedding, I mean."

"Lord Robert has asked me to continue as valet after the move to Crawley House," Carson said. "So we will be in close quarters for quite some time yet."

"The wedding is speeding along – they'll be married here at Downton three days after the banns are final," Elsie said. "So in another month, god knows what our lives will be like at Crawley House."

He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. She bit her lip, but slipped her hand into his, holding it tightly as they stopped and face each other. "Our lives will be all the better for having each other in them," he said gently.

He leaned in to kiss her, but she ducked her face away quickly. "We can't," she whispered. "Mr. Carson, we cannot."

"Elsie –"

"No," she said firmly. "Friends, yes. That, no. Never that." She pulled her hand free from his and bit back a noise from deep in her throat as she broke the contact. "I have a burden of care for Lady Ida, and nothing must interfere with that. I made a promise to her mother on her deathbed. I will not break my word, Mr. Carson, even for you – even if… if I were to want… that… more than anything else in the world. And we shan't ever speak of this again and nothing must change between us. We are friends and no more." Her voice was heavy, choked with unshed tears.

He turned on his heel and he began to walk again in the direction of the village. She followed his lengthy strides at almost a run, but never did quite catch up with him.

And she began to wonder if she had managed to break his heart in one fell swoop.

* * *

"Mr. Carson, I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked to see you," Lady Ida said with a warm smile.

"The thought had occurred to me, m'lady," he said dryly.

"Only, we're to all be in the same household soon, and I should like to know all of the men and women who will be serving us," she continued without taking him too much to heart. "Miss Hughes speaks highly of you, which is high praise indeed – she has all but raised me since I was seven and out of the nursery, and I do so adore her. I am glad, very glad, that she has consented to remain with me as I begin a family of my own." She gestured at an arm chair and said, "Please sit, Mr. Carson, and tell me about yourself. Do you have a wife? Family nearby?"

"I am not married, m'lady, nor should I be if I remain in Lord Robert's employ," Charles said gravely. "My mother lives in the village – she was in service as head cook until recently."

"Why would you be unable to marry?" Ida inquired.

"It is not a prerogative of a servant of a large, prominent household, ma'am."

"But your parents –"

"A groom and a kitchen maid are not a valet and a lady's maid," he said pointedly.

"So you've seen through my cunning ruse, have you –"

"It is impossible, m'lady, even if she were so inclined – which she has told me in no uncertain terms that she is not."

"She is lying to your face," Lady Ida said softly. "She cares for you a great deal."

"I am not ungrateful for your interest, m'lady, but I cannot go against Miss Hughes's express wishes – and the traditions of the household."

"If I gave you my consent –"

"I respect Miss Hughes far too much to allow her to be the brunt of a common scandal," he scoffed indignantly. "No matter how much I might care for her."

"You do care for her?"

He hesitated, then nodded miserably. "I am afraid that I rather love her," Charles admitted shamefully, quietly. "And I've no right at all."

"I'll speak to her – maybe your cause isn't hopeless…"

"Please don't press the issue, m'lady," he pleaded. "I cannot bear to bring Elsie more pain."

"She is quite unhappy – you both are… we must do something to –"

"No," he said firmly. "We must do nothing, Lady Westbrooke. Nothing at all."

* * *

The wedding was small and intimate for a society affair, quick and hurried, and the removal to Crawley House done in as short a time as allowable. Elsie felt the smaller surroundings keenly pressing in on her, and Carson's presence seemed to be everywhere.

They chanced by one another on the back stairs on their separate ways, and he reached out to trail his fingertips down her arm for the briefest of moments. "Miss Hughes –"

"Mr. Carson," she murmured, stopping and facing him. "I am so terribly sorry for our walk and the frankness of our conversation. I… did not intend to upset you."

His hands were clenched tightly into fists. "Didn't you?" he countered.

"Why would I want to upset my friend?" she asked gently, putting her hand onto his forearm. "Who I care for so deeply?" The tiny intimacy was compounded by the flush in her cheeks, the ragged tear of her breath. The urge to kiss him and forget everything else in the world for a moment.

He was conflicted; it was painted all over his face, his struggle, the imbalance. And then he inhaled raggedly and muttered, "Even you do not have such malice in your body, Elsie."

"I do," she murmured. "Care for you. Very much. My friend, Mr. Carson."

"Charlie," he exhaled roughly. "Call me Charlie if we're to be friends, then."

She smiled weakly and murmured, "Very well, Charlie – and you must call me Elsie."

He closed his eyes, then opened them and stepped closer and closer to her until they were barely a breath apart. He smelled of pomade and bergamot, and she wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and just breathe him in. Instead, she did not shy from him when he leaned in to press a tender, courtly kiss to her lips.

"Very well, Elsie," he whispered. "I've kept you long enough – Mrs. Adams will wonder where you've gotten to." He began to retreat, but she pulled him back and kissed him strongly, with all of the desire and passion she'd dreamed of unleashing on him. "Elsie – Elsie, no…"

She stared at him for a long moment, then murmured, "I do care for you very much, Charlie, and if… if my life were even a tiny bit different…"

"I love you," he said, "and I am not free to say it or even think it. And neither are you."

"I don't care anymore," she said sharply. "I don't. I'm a tired old spinster who's got nothing to show for her life but service. And my heart won't listen to reason. It's settled on you."

His smile was weary, tired, sad. "No, Elsie. We can't," he said, echoing her words from the road. "No matter how much we want it." He paused. "And I cannot tell you with words how much I want you."

He was gone before she could formulate a reply; and maybe it was better that way.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys, you know that thing about courtly love and all that nonsense? Yeah, no, this is smutty.

* * *

III:

* * *

"Well, say something, Aunt Elsie," Ida said hesitantly.

Elsie had already fumbled her mending, so she attempted to hide her surprise – but failed miserably in the process. "Well, you two certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?" she said.

Ida blushed. "Yes, well… it's the way of the thing, isn't it? Either you… and become with child, or you don't," she mumbled. "Are you… are you upset?"

"No, not a bit of it," Elsie said. "Just… surprised. We'll have to summon a dressmaker to begin letting out your seams soon – and create some new gowns before you need them."

Ida nodded and said, "Robert is pleased beyond belief – he's proven his manhood by attempting to propagate the succession or some nonsense. I'm… utterly terrified."

"I've never been through it, so I've no words of wisdom to offer," Elsie said; this time, hers was the cheek that was blushing. "I remember the day your mum was born – I was three and Mam was the midwife, so she took me along to the big house to help. I always told myself that it would never be me laboring in a big bed – not after Lady Allenby died right in front of me. Mam almost couldn't save your mum. I've never been more frightened in all my life."

"It is a hard work, but the effort is usually well-rewarded," Ida said. "It's what everyone expects – you get married, make sons, and grow old."

"Not everyone," Elsie murmured.

"You'll be godmother, of course –"

"Don't make promises you cannae keep," Elsie said, patting Ida on the cheek. "Your mother-in-law will have many things to say about that idea."

"She can say what she likes," Ida said forcefully. "You are the most trustworthy woman I know and it would be an honor to have you care for my child as you've done for me." She leaned in close and added, "Besides, it will make the old bat turn purple with rage when she realizes I won't budge. Isn't that worth the price of admission?"

Elsie laughed and said, "You are a terrible person sometimes –"

Ida grinned at her. "To be completely honest, I'm hoping for a little girl – a boy would be taken from me and swaddled and coddled and turned into another stuffed-shirt, swaggering peacock… but a little girl will be all mine to adore and dote upon."

Elsie warned, "Be careful what you wish for, dearest."

"Spoilsport," Ida said. "Now… let's change the subject. How are you getting on with everyone? Blake speaks highly of you, as does Mrs. Hicks. Are you getting on well with Mr. Carson?"

"Yes, I've no complaints – nor do I have any right to have any," Elsie said firmly. "It is your household…"

"It's Violet's household, aside from you," Ida sighed. "Which is why I must make certain you are happy, Aunt Elsie. It is very important that you be happy – maybe not as much so as I am, but…"

"I would never presume to put my own needs above yours," Elsie sighed. "I am… content."

"But not happy," Ida said worriedly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," Elsie murmured. "It's just the way of the world. I've no right to pretend to deserve any happiness at all. No right at all."

Ida hesitated. "Because you're in service."

"No, because I'm a lord's by-blow," Elsie muttered.

"That's not your fault – you deserve happiness just as much as anyone else," Ida declared. "What would make you happy, Aunt Elsie?"

Elsie hesitated, then looked away from Ida. "It doesn't matter," she said very quietly. "Now, if we're quite finished with this rather depressing conversation, I've got to make my way to the shops to pick up the trim for your gown."

"Elsie, will Carson make you happy?" Ida interjected.

"Don't be ridiculous," Elsie muttered. "You're seeing castles in the sky and happy families where none will ever be, Ida. Let it be."

"He's quite besotted – Robert says so."

"Forgive me saying so, but Lord Robert would do well to mind his own business matters instead of poking his nose into others'," Elsie snapped. "There is nothing untoward between Mr. Carson and myself. There will never be anything of that manner."

"But you care for him."

"He is my friend," Elsie said simply. "We all care for our friends, m'lady." With that, she left the room before she could say anything else that might lead to unpleasantness.

* * *

"Why ever do I get the impression that you're not happy to take tea with me?" Margaret Carson teased her son as he fiddled with his cup.

"Don't be ridiculous, mum," Charles sighed. "Of course I want to take tea with you on my half day. We do it every three weeks."

"You've been itching to leave since you got here," she pointed out. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that pretty lady's maid of Lady Ida's, would it?"

He felt the blood drain from his face. "Mum, please don't interfere," he pleaded.

"You sit with her in church every Sunday," she pointed out. "Tongues will start to wag –"

"Nothing is happening between us," he said softly, clearly. "We are friends, companions in our work – nothing more."

"Charles, you are my son and I know –"

"I love her," he said. "You know that just by looking. That is enough, and that is all it can be."

"Does she know?"

He sipped his tea and sighed. "Yes."

"Why haven't you done anything about it?"

"What makes you so certain the fault is mine?" he countered irritably. "Please stop interfering, mother."

"I want you to be happy –"

"If wishes were horses, mum."

Margaret sighed and took a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, it's not too late for you to leave service – you could take a job in the mill or use my savings to buy a shop –"

"I'll not leave without Elsie, and she would never leave Lady Ida if it was in her power," he countered with a scowl on his lips. "They are devoted to one another, though I hardly know why. Lady Ida allows Elsie a level of impertinence that is beyond the pale, well into sass."

Margaret smirked. "Lo, and my son has fallen victim to a woman of her own mind –"

"I've not fallen victim to anyone," he huffed. "We are friends. Nothing more."

"That, my dear boy, is what your da said for seven years until I finally took him out into the woods and showed him that where there's affection and love, there's always a way," Margaret said pointedly.

Charles looked down into his cup. "And what about Lily?" he asked. "Am I so fickle as to… to forget her entirely?"

"Of course not! But she is dead and you are not. She would understand that," Margaret said, reaching over and holding his hand. "I am sorry; it never quite heals, does it? I suppose you're feeling very guilty for –"

"For falling in love again? Yes. I am," he said in a clipped tone. "Moreso because I am not what Miss Hughes wants for herself."

"I think you'll find that she does," Margaret said with false cheer.

He glumly looked into the bottom of his empty cup. "She has already refused me," he said. "I don't… I don't have the courage to try again."

"She never has! What an uppity minx, getting above herself – when you have such prospects ahead of you! For shame!" Margaret gasped furiously. "How dare she –"

"She is right," Charles said firmly. "We cannot be together. It is against the rules."

"The rules are bloody stupid."

"I am not going to argue with you about this. We are friends, and anything else is impossible," he muttered. "Now, will you cut the cake or shall I?"

* * *

They sat together on the small sofa in the servants' hall, close as you like, thigh to thigh, Elsie darning holes in the toes of Lady Ida's woolen winter socks, and Charles mending the hem of one of Lord Robert's dress shirts. The silence was companionable, even comfortable, as if they shared something much more profound than a seat together.

"I got a letter from me mam today," Elsie said softly. "She's housekeeper at Bradley Castle; she's thinking about retiring." She inhaled deeply and murmured, "I cannot think she would be happy after leaving what's amounted to her home for nearly twenty years."

"Does she have enough set aside to –"

"She's retirin' to the farm," Elsie said. "It's enough." She looked up at him, then murmured, "She's offered me a position as head housemaid before she goes. Maybe a promotion to housekeeper in a couple of years when Mrs. Harper retires."

"You're not seriously thinking about taking her up on it, are you?" he asked.

"And what if I am?" she shot back. "Lady Ida won't need me soon; she has a husband and she'll have a passel of wee bairns to keep her company."

"You would leave Downton?" He stared at her blankly, as if she'd betrayed him. "You would… you would leave me?"

"I've not made a decision yet if I'm even going," she murmured. "And we've no… no understanding, you and I."

"Because you've made it abundantly clear that I am beneath your dignity," he snapped.

"What?" she said. "No – you're an honorable man, and if anything, I am the one beneath your dignity," she said, looking stricken. "How you could care for me, knowing who I am –"

"You are Elsie Hughes –"

"I am Lord Allenby's bastard," she said bluntly. "My mam is his mistress and he's finally turning her out into the cold. I make no apologies for what I am, because there are none to give." She stabbed herself with the darning needle and cried out with the sharp pain.

"Here, let me," Charles sighed, grabbing her hand and examining her finger. When nothing more than a bruise presented itself, he kissed her fingertip and murmured, "Better?"

"Better," she squeaked.

"You are Elsie Hughes," he said again, "and you are the most wonderful woman I've ever been privileged to meet." His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in closer and murmured, "I am quite in love with you and your confession does not alter that fact." He paused. "Will you leave me?" he asked.

"Charlie, I –"

"I would ask you to marry me, but you would not accept."

"No," she agreed softly, "not today." She set aside her work and reached over to shyly hold his hand. "But soon. If… if you really want."

"All I want right now is for you to stay," he whispered.

Her lip quirked up into a bit of a smirk. "Really? And here, I was hoping you'd want a kiss."

"I do," he agreed. "But it would be very ungallant of me to just take one. And I might not be able to stop at one."

She squeezed his hand. "I quite understand," she murmured. "And we must, of course, be discreet."

"Of course," he agreed.

They heard someone coming and abruptly pulled away from one another, trying not to look guilty as the butler and housekeeper blustered into the hall, loudly discussing something.

* * *

She awoke to her bedroom door opening with its soft, characteristic creak. She was about to cry out and ask who was there when Charles's hand came over her mouth. "Shh," he breathed, "it's just me."

"What are you doing in here?" Elsie exhaled. "What if someone hears –"

"It's past one in the morning – who would be up?"

"This is the opposite of discretion," she pointed out.

"I don't care," he replied, putting a finger over his lips in the darkness to signify the importance of silence. And then he kissed her.

Kissing in the dark was nothing like kissing on the stairs or along the side of the road; this was something altogether foreign and forbidden. His tongue ran over the crease of her lips, gently opening them, and that was when everything changed. This was something far more intimate than just a kiss, opening a new world to them both; Elsie listened to the tiny sounds they both made, paid attention to every movement. She'd been kissed a couple of times – Joe Burns had insisted – but those chaste kisses were nothing compared to the raw power of what she and Charles were sharing.

"I don't know –" she exhaled. "I've never –"

"Shh," he breathed.

"Charlie," she breathed, "ask me now."

"Marry me?"

"Yes," she choked out. "Yes." The kisses grew in intensity until she was dizzy with the sensations, and he had worked her nightdress up around her hips, baring her sex to the whole world if anyone walked in. She had no shame, grinding against his hand as he stroked her intimately like she'd done so many times before to make those sinful feelings stop. But he was causing so many more sinful desires; his index finger slid into her wet heat, and a tiny, panicked gasp left her lips. He kissed her again, gently working his finger in and out of her until it was as far as it could go. He had gentle hands, calloused with work, but not unkind, and she gave in to him, knowing he would not hurt her.

Charles Carson was an honorable man and he had offered her marriage, even knowing who she was.

She kissed him deeply, mimicking the motions below as he added another finger, then another , manipulating her, letting her rock against his hand, seeking something dark and forbidden. He brushed his thumb against the tiny nub at the apex of her sex, and she came apart at the seams, heat and incredible pleasure bursting through her like an explosion. His fingers left her most intimate place, and she whimpered, hating the sudden emptiness.

The tip of his manhood pressed against her entrance only seconds later, and she bit her lip – the only thing she knew about sexual relations was that it was painful when a man took you the first time. He kissed her until she relaxed, then pressed against her until the head was inside her. Everything after that was small movements, thrusting up and back, causing frissions of unexplainable pleasure up her spine. He coaxed her legs up around his hips, and surged forward until he was completely filling her, swallowing her startled cry as her body spasmed around him. He lifted her hips, pulled back drove home, kissed her into utter silence as they moved together. The mattress squeaked and groaned beneath them, and he slowed his movements, listening for any sign of anyone else up and about.

Her whole body tensed and released, stars forming in her vision as she came down from her ultimate high. He pulled out and grunted, turning away from her and stroking himself into a handkerchief. The look of utter bliss on his face as he stiffened and spilled into his hand made her feel proud; she had done that to him – a plain woman on the cusp of middle age had made a man so undone he'd been forced to…

He stroked her face, kissed her sweetly with no trace of the all-consuming passion of before. "Elsie," Charles breathed, "you've made me the happiest of men –"

"Shh, someone will hear you," she murmured.

"I love you."

She blushed and smiled. She was sticky and hot and slick with sweat and it really was the most glorious thing, being with him. Resisting him had been futile – from the start. "I love you, too," Elsie whispered.

They held each other long into the night, only breaking away an hour or so before the scullery maid came up to wake them. Elsie couldn't remember a night where she'd felt so amazing, despite lack of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

So... warnings for death, etc.

* * *

IV:

* * *

They met on the stairs somewhere between breakfast and luncheon, each with arms full of clothing – Charles was heading downstairs with Lord Robert's outgoing laundry, and Elsie was coming up the stairs with Lady Ida's laundry that had come in from the big house. They paused, so near that they could touch if only they weren't weighed down, and both smiled. "I thought I might have dreamt it all," Elsie said softly.

"Not a bit of it – do you know how hard it was not to grin like an imbicile all through breakfast?" he chuckled. "You're beautiful, Elsie – so beautiful."

"Get away with you," she murmured, blushing. "I've got to get on – Ida is expecting me."

He hesitated, then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too – are you serving at the Abbey tonight?" A party was one of the few occasions when he was required to go to the big house and act as a footman or underbutler, depending on the circumstances and prestige of the visitors.

"I am," he said with a sigh. "I'll be missing dinner –"

She licked her lips, then said very shakily, "Will you come to my room again or -?"

"Not tonight," he said with a hint of regret. "It will be very late when I return."

She nodded, not feeling slighted at all. They must be practical, after all. "Best we get on," she said, "before someone sees us."

Seemingly unable to help himself, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then continued on his way. She faltered for a moment, then gathered herself and continued up the stairs. Surely, this way lay madness – they would be caught and punished. But she couldn't bring herself to care much.

* * *

"There is definitely something different about you," Ida declared as Elsie struggled with her corset. The girl's petite, slim frame was already changing with the early stages of her pregnancy, and Elsie had been spending most of her waking hours letting out seams and putting in patches so she could carefully lope together pieces of fabric that wouldn't let out. Ida's silk and taffeta evening gown was fairly bursting at the seams trying to contain her.

"Let out all your breath," Elsie instructed roughly, "and brace yourself, love – it might hurt a bit."

Ida did as she was told, and to her credit, she didn't even flinch as the corset finally tightened enough. "I feel like a sausage," she complained.

"Your new gowns will be coming in a few days," Elsie promised. "And your larger corset."

Ida frowned. "I can't be more than three months gone and I already look like a whale."

"No such thing," Elsie said firmly. "You are growing a beautiful baby inside you – I think you're entitled to gain weight."

"I'll never lose it again." Ida sighed and let Elsie tuck her into the makeshift dress. "Aren't you worried about things like that?"

"My vanity has nothing to do with my waist," Elsie commented dryly. "You're just like your mother, you know – always worried about the silliest things."

"She was younger than I am now when she died," Ida pointed out. "I think it's fair for a 13 year old to worry about silly things."

Elsie's smile vanished; they didn't talk of such things very often. "Yes," she agreed quietly. "I am sorry, you know, that your father decided you should marry so young."

"I am sixteen," Ida reminded her. "And Robert is nineteen. It is honorable. Unlike mother and father."

Elsie sighed heavily. Helen had been young and stupid, being seduced at the tender age of twelve by a man nearly fifteen years her senior – but he had been held to account for his despicable actions and forced to marry her. Ida was just following in her mother's footsteps… alas. "I'm afraid I don't like the tone of this conversation," Elsie said gently, finishing fastening the buttons on Ida's bodice.

"Oh, fine," Ida sighed. "Anyway – you do look different. Did you change your hair?"

"A little," Elsie admitted. "My cap fits better now."

"I am so envious of your hair," Ida said. "It's so curly and you don't have to do anything to it! Mine is limp as a dishrag after the washing."

Elsie smiled. "Your child will have gorgeous blonde curls," she promised. "I've heard gossip that your husband was born with a full head of them."

"Oh, I do hope so," Ida murmured. "Aunt Elsie, I wonder every day if I'm doing the right thing – if I've done the right thing."

"What do you mean?" Elsie asked, checking her over for loose threads and gaps between stitches.

"If I've made a mistake in marrying Robert. I mean, we're both so… young. How will we be in forty years? Will we hate one another?"

"No," Elsie said firmly, "you will still be madly in love with all of your children and grandchildren around you. Your youth will forge a tighter bond –"

"What if he regrets me? Takes a mistress?" She paused. "Or, heaven forbid, spends all the money?"

"You cannae worry about every little thing," Elsie said. "Just worry about getting through dinner in one piece."

"There is something different about you besides your hair," Ida commented. "I just don't know what it is."

Elsie had the good sense to blush. "I don't know what you mean," she said. "I'm the same old Elsie Hughes – steady, reliable, and ready to proclaim that you're as lovely a picture as I can make you."

"Robert says Mr. Carson is in a better frame of mind lately – he had been such a dismal fellow, all gloom and doom and dourness." Ida tossed her head, the shower of curls down her back bouncing around like a wave. "But he's even smiling the last few days."

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," Elsie said, evading the trap. "He is his own person, just as I am mine –"

"But you're friends and you should care about one another's welfare –"

Elsie gave her a dour look. "Enough, lass – if you've something to say, just come out with it."

"Are you responsible for Carson's miraculous turnaround?" Ida shot back.

"I would like to take credit for that, but it is not my doing," Elsie fibbed. "He's been just as grumpy as ever with me."

Ida sighed dramatically. "Really? I thought sure he'd… well, nevermind."

"That he'd what exactly?" Elsie inquired.

"Well… maybe kissed you or something?"

"You naughty thing!" Elsie exclaimed. "As if a kiss would make staid Mr. Carson go a bit ga-ga in the head. He must just be pleased about you and Robert and the baby. I know I am."

Ida sighed. "You will tell me if he ever –"

"We are entirely above reproach," Elsie lied through her teeth. The last thing she needed was Ida blabbing to her husband, or worse – because if Lady Grantham got the bit between her teeth, they were both sacked without character.

"If you weren't entirely above reproach, you know I wouldn't be cross," Ida murmured. "I would be happy for you both. I promise."

Elsie sighed. "I know you would be, but your husband and his mother would not be."

"You wouldn't tell me if you were, would you?" Ida muttered.

"Probably not."

"That is unfair."

"Oh, hush – Lord Robert is waiting for you, and you shouldn't be dilly-dallying and dithering with me," Elsie scolded. "Away with ye."

Ida pouted, then sighed. "Oh, fine – but you'll tell me if he at least declares himself…"

Elsie flushed a bit and murmured, "He has."

"Wait – what?"

"He has declared his feelings, and I have declared mine," Elsie said. "I don't know if it's enough to make him smile or –"

"No, no, I'm not going yet," Ida squeaked. "What did he say?"

"Ida, you need to go," Elsie insisted. "I will tell you more tonight."

"You'd better!" Ida said firmly. "Did he give you a token or anything?"

"I don't think tokens are important."

"Not even a… well, I don't know. Robert gave me ruby earrings before he proposed. I don't know what a valet would give his sweetheart –"

"Never you mind yourself with those romantic dreams," Elsie sighed. "Your mother in law is going to be hopping mad if you're late to dinner because you've been gossiping with your maid."

"He must be very special, though –"

"Enough," Elsie barked. "Out that door, now."

* * *

The weeks flew by; they spent companionable days as co-workers and companionable nights in her room in the tiny single bed. They didn't make love every night – some nights, they just held one another in silence, afraid of any disturbance from the outside world on their blissful idyll.

Charles, on his half day, had gone into Ripon and published the banns, and had secured a day in January for the wedding. Negotiating with the housekeeper and butler for joint half days had been surprisingly easy – but he had been naughty and suggested that Elsie needed him to go with her to carry shopping packages for Lord Robert and Lady Ida. Not entirely a lie, but not exactly the truth, either.

Which is how, on 14 January, Elsie and Charles became Mr. and Mrs. Carson in the Ripon Registry Office, with his mother and one of her friends as a witness to their quiet, earnest vows. Charles gifted her with a simple ring – silver, with their initials and the date engraved inside – and that was that.

Nothing had really changed in those quiet months of waiting, but now she was Mrs. Carson and proud holder of his happiness – and his heart. She could barely keep from slipping her hand into his as they walked the frigid streets to collect packages for their lord and lady, a smile on her lips as she thought about how now she had the right to do so with no shame at all.

They separated reluctantly when they got back to Crawley House in time to dress Lord Robert and Lady Ida for dinner. Elsie had moved her wedding band from her finger to a chain around her neck on the journey back from Ripon, despite how sad and lonely it made her feel – even with Charles sat right next to her.

Ida watched Elsie in the mirror as she fussed about every detail, though it was only dinner in for two that evening. "I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you," Ida said softly. "I can help – did you and Mr. Carson have a falling out?"

"No," Elsie said, fluffing Ida's overskirt. "It's just been a very long day, what with the trip to Ripon and back."

"Thank you for collecting the dresses for me," Ida said. "I feel so much better now I'm not squeezed into everything I own." She flinched and her hand dropped to cover her abdomen for a moment.

"Ida?" Elsie said worriedly.

"It's nothing," Ida said, suddenly pale. "The doctor says there is pain sometimes as the womb expands. Apparently, it is normal."

"Do you need to sit?" Elsie questioned gently.

"No, I'm all right," Ida said firmly. "You do not need to wrap me in cotton wool every time I breathe, Aunt Elsie."

"You know I worry about you," Elsie murmured. "Especially now, with the bairn and all."

"I know, but you needn't worry quite so much," Ida said.

Elsie huffed. "Nonsense," she said. "There you are – do you want any of the jewels tonight?"

"It's just us," Ida said. "I shouldn't think so." She looked at Elsie in the mirror and said, "I know you went into Ripon with Mr. Carson to be married today. Just so it's in the open."

That gave Elsie pause. "How did you find out? We were so careful –"

"I ran into Mrs. Carson yesterday and she thanked me for allowing you two the time off together," Ida said. There was a small amount of hurt on her face as she added, "I suppose you thought I couldn't keep the secret."

"No, it's just…" Elsie paused, then sighed. "It is quite irregular and I wouldn't want to upset the status quo."

"But you married him; isn't that enough upset?" Ida asked. "And is it convenience or is it –"

"It is love," Elsie murmured. "There is nothing at all convenient about it."

"But he makes you happy?" Ida inquired worriedly.

"I wouldn't have married him if he didn't," Elsie said pointedly. "No one must know; we cannot afford to lose our positions right now."

"And what if you fall pregnant?" Ida countered.

Elsie blushed and murmured, "He has been practicing caution."

Ida's eyes widened. "Oh my," was all she managed to say.

"And that," Elsie said, "is all you need know about that." She smiled. "I will tell Charles that you wish us well."

"I wish you so much better than well," Ida said with a smile. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Elsie shook her head. "No, but it does me a world of good to know you care."

* * *

He forgot himself, sheathed deep within her tight, hot body, this beautiful woman – his wife, he had to remind himself – giving him as much passion as he was giving to her. They were quieter than normal, their movements languid and slow, building up the anticipation and the bliss until they were both coming apart.

In a primal move, he decided that – just this once, on their wedding night – they should take the risk of him spilling his seed inside her. He thought of pleasure and need and of a sweet little girl with Elsie's eyes and his smile as he came, finally home.

She was smiling at him in the darkness. "So that's nice," she whispered. "We're really…"

"We're well and truly married," he agreed. "Not a moment too soon."

"Ida knows," she breathed.

A few thoughts crossed his mind, like whether Lady Ida knew well enough to hold her tongue, but he only said, "And she isn't cross?"

"She is pleased for us," Elsie murmured sleepily. "And she won't make trouble."

They held each other tight in the darkness, content.

They were awakened by a pounding on the door. "Miss Hughes?" Lord Robert nearly shouted. "Miss Hughes –"

Elsie sprang out of bed, throwing on her nightdress and dressing gown. She carefully opened the door a crack, and said, "M'lord?"

"Ida is bleeding – I just woke James and sent him for the doctor," he said, his voice panicked. "She's asking for you – I –"

She tied her dressing gown tightly and followed him down into the third floor. She wasn't certain what to expect, but the bloodbath before her was not it. A pool of dark blood lay around Ida, and the girl was so pale she was nearly grey. "Oh, love," Elsie murmured, coming over to soothe her.

"I've… I've done the most awful thing and lost the baby," Ida mumbled, her voice fading. "Robert will never forgive me –"

"He will," Elsie whispered. "He will, love. Now, you need to stay awake for me, darling girl."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Ida said. "At the –"

"Never you mind, darling love," Elsie murmured, trying to do something, anything to keep Ida focused. She could see her growing weaker, knew that it was only a matter if time if the doctor didn't hurry. "That you were happy is enough." She looked up at Lord Robert and said, "There's nothing I can do – she's already lost the bairn and the bleeding isn't stopped."

"You must do something," he insisted, his tone somewhere between utterly horrified and angry. "Anything – something – we must –"

"There is nothing I can do but try to make her comfortable," Elsie snapped, losing what was left of her temper. "M'lord, she is dying – I cannot change that."

His hands were shaking. "Do – please, do something."

Elsie was already attempting to slow the bleeding by shoving another pillow beneath Ida's pelvis, tilting it upward. She was up to her elbows in blood, her nightdress and dressing gown irrevocably destroyed, and she felt tiny splatters of the offending blood all over her face. She was outwardly all business, inwardly quaking in her boots because – yet again – she was witnessing the horrors of childbirth gone wrong. It was a dangerous, terrifying process, and even when it went smoothly, it was not something that left you unscathed. "Ida, love," Elsie said gently, trying to keep the young woman conscious and focused, "are you more comfortable?"

"I'm cold," Ida complained weakly.

Robert immediately pulled the blankets up over his wife's prone form and lay down beside her, heedless of the mess. He held her close as he dared, and said, "Ida, my love… I am so very sorry –"

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Ida whispered. "I lost our child –"

"That is not your fault," he choked out through his tears.

Elsie felt like she was intruding; she swiped at her face – her fallen, unkempt hair getting in the way – with her elbow, only succeeding in making a bigger mess. She left the room for a moment of quiet, to breathe, to push down her increasing panic and formulate a plan.

All of that crumbled in the face of the household staff gathered in the corridor, worry coloring each face, turning to increasing fear as they took in Elsie's state. Charles rushed forward with a glass of water and a cloth; Elsie cleaned herself up as best she could, then said, "We need more linens – she is bleeding badly. Lord Robert and I are trying to keep her comfortable until the doctor arrives, but she is dying. We cannot save her now."

"What can we do?" the housekeeper asked, finally finding her voice. "What do you need, Miss Hughes?"

"More linens – toweling, whatever you can find that's clean," Elsie said firmly, avoiding Charles's concerned gaze. "Some more pillows – as the blood soaks in, the feathers are going to compact and we need to keep her supported as long as possible. Brandy, whiskey – whatever we've got that's strong. Hot sweet tea. Boiling water." She paused, hesitated, then looked directly at Charles. "Lord Robert will need fresh clothes as soon as it's over."

"We should send word to the Abbey," the butler said.

Elsie shook her head. "There's nothing they can do for her now – we'll send someone when it's all finished. No sense in disturbing them and making them worry when it's all a fuss in the middle." She turned to go back into the room, but Charles stopped her, his hand gentle on her forearm. "I'm all right," she assured him.

"You're shaking," he pointed out.

"Must be the shock," Elsie exhaled.

"Mr. Carson, let Miss Hughes get on," the butler ground out. "Go fetch and carry."

Elsie went back into the stifling room; it reeked of blood and death, so strong she gagged and had to press her hand over her mouth to keep her stomach in check. "They're… they're gathering things, supplies," she said to Lord Robert.

"I've wrapped the… the baby in her shawl," Robert said, gesturing at a pool of silk in the corner. "No sense in even trying to save our sense of decorum now, is there?"

Elsie swallowed hard, trying to keep her feelings smothered. There was no point in having hysterics now; best wait until later. "Thank you, m'lord –"

"You must call me Robert," he said firmly. "We're past the point of no return now, Miss Hughes."

She shoved her bloodied sleeves back up her arms and said, "Elsie, then – it'll save you breath." She leaned in over the bed and felt for Ida's pulse; it was weak and thready. "Ida, love," she called in a sing-song voice, trying to rouse her. "There's my lass," she praised gently. "They're bringing you some sweet tea, darling."

Ida licked her lips and breathed, "I told him, Aunt Elsie. About you. He's going to take care of you."

"Stuff and nonsense," Elsie said, pulling back the blankets. She fought the urge to gag again, pausing for a long moment, breathing through her mouth. Just when she thought she could control it, she ran for the chamber pot, heaving her guts up.

The bedroom door opened and the housekeeper came in with a tea service and a decanter of whiskey. "Elsie – oh – oh, god, the smell –"

"Out," Elsie insisted, "get out – send Charles – Mr. Carson – in with the linens and hot water." She wiped her lips on a dry patch of her dressing gown and poured herself a measure of whiskey. She tossed it back and poured another, carrying it over to Lord Robert. "Drink this," she insisted. Once he'd taken the glass, she poured a cup of tea and went through the painful, arduous task of trying to force it into Ida.

"She's been very insistent that I keep you on – after –"

"None of that, now," Elsie said firmly. "Ida, lass, you've been very naughty, telling Robert that I'm your aunt. You cannae blackmail him like that right now – not when you'll be right as rain soon enough."

"Liar," Ida choked around the tea. "I'm slipping away – I feel it, Aunt Elsie."

"Well, don't you dare give in," Elsie said firmly. "Don't you dare. You've still got your whole life ahead of you – all those golden Adonis babies of yours… parties and gowns and –"

"No, I don't think so," Ida whispered. "Not for me anymore." She blinked tiredly, then murmured, "But for you… yes."

"No need to be cheeky now," Elsie warned gently. If Ida told Robert about the wedding, even in her rapid decline, it would be inevitable that they would both be sacked. "Oh, my poor lass –"

Ida whimpered in pain, and Robert held her closer. Elsie did what she could, fighting her every instinct. Ten minutes later, just after Charles came in with more linens and two more pillows, Ida drew a last raspy, gurgling breath, and then went silent and still.

Elsie stepped back, away from the bed, turned away from the gory scene. Robert's sobs filled the room, pushing her further toward the edge. She braced herself with bloodsoaked hands on Ida's vanity table, taking one deep, shaky breath after another, her heart clenching and fairly breaking with the surge of sudden grief and shock. Charles rested his hand on her shoulder, and she shrugged him off. "Elsie –"

"I'm all right," she denied. She didn't have a choice. "Can… can you go to the big house and deliver this message – Ida died at 2:45 am. Baby boy died at around midnight. We'll need maids, caustic powders, linens, a mattress…"

"I will," he agreed.

It wasn't until after her husband had left and Robert began to quiet that Elsie felt reality sink in. She sat on the floor, drawing her knees up to her face and wept without shame; she wept for Ida, youth lost, for the baby boy who would never draw breath, for… for herself.

Because what would happen to her if she ever conceived a child? Would she meet the same horrific end to bring a baby into the world?

Grief and panic settled over her like a mantle, choking her and leaving her little more than a puddle of limbs on the floor.

* * *

"I've tucked Miss Hughes up in bed," Mrs. Harper said. "She's had a nasty shock, and no mistake – we all have. Lady Ida was a breath of fresh air and I am very sorry she's gone home to her maker."

Charles drank his tea; he'd been working with Lord Robert to attempt to tidy the room for several hours, his young master moving around the bedroom in a haze, not talking aside to ask when the man from Grasby's was coming to take Ida's body away. Elsie had cleaned her up as best she could, covering the worst of the mess with the duvet, so Ida looked almost peaceful as if she were sleeping.

They were all in shock; Lady Ida was so young, so strong… if she could die from this, anyone could. It hammered the point home with alacrity.

The butler came down and said, "Mr. Carson, you've been summoned to the drawing room."

Charles set aside his mug and sighed. "I don't like the sound of that."

Lord and Lady Grantham were waiting; Lord Robert was pacing the room like a caged animal. Lady Grantham fixed Charles with a dispassionate stare. "We have suffered an unendurable loss today," she said firmly. "Lady Ida will be greatly missed." She took a deep breath.

Lord Grantham jumped in. "Mr. Carson, do you believe that Miss Hughes did everything possible to save my grandson and Lady Ida?"

"I've already told you," Robert snapped bitterly, "the child was already dead when Miss Hughes came in. She couldn't stop – she couldn't stop Ida from dying."

"Miss Hughes should not have taken charge," Lady Grantham said loudly. "She had no right!"

"I asked her to!" Robert shouted furiously. "I went for her because Ida trusted her with her life –"

Charles watched the tableau before him in increasing worry. "M'lord, m'lady," he said gravely, "I believe that Miss Hughes did everything she could do for both the young master and his mother. She has been with Lady Ida for almost ten years; why would she give anything but her level best to keep her alive?"

"They want to send her away without character," Robert hissed. "I will not allow it –"

"You have no choice," Lord Grantham roared, his face nearly purple. "She allowed her lady to die in her care –"

"She must go," Lady Grantham said. "We've no need for a traitorous lady's maid at the Abbey, and you've certainly no need of her now."

"She has done nothing wrong," Charles spoke up. "You mustn't send her away without a reference, m'lord."

"Where is she now?" Lady Grantham demanded.

"I should think she is in her room, mourning her niece," Robert said contemptuously. "She would no sooner have ushered Ida to her death as anything – Miss Hughes did everything in her power to make my wife comfortable at the end. How dare you cheapen her efforts? How dare you, Mama?"

Charles blinked. "Her niece?" he said quietly.

"Miss Hughes's half sister was Ida's mother," Robert snapped. "And she served her niece as both mother and aunt and lady's maid. How dare any of you judge her grief when it is as raw as mine and with justification!"

"Well, she is obviously not respectable," Lady Grantham snapped. "And she killed your wife –"

"She did no such thing!" Robert shouted. "No such thing at all –"

"My lord," Charles interjected, "might I take Miss Hughes to my mother's for a few days until the arrangements are finalized and a decision about her future is made?"

"Yes, Carson, of course – tell her… tell her I am sorry and whatever comes, I will do my best to honor Ida's wishes. She will understand," Robert said firmly.

"Very good, m'lord," Charles agreed. "May I -?"

"Leave," Lord Grantham snapped.

Charles retreated up to the attics. Elsie was curled up in the small bed, looking very tiny in her black dress. "Hello," he said softly. "I'm to take you to mum's for a few days. Lady Grantham is fighting for your dismissal."

Elsie barely acknowledged him, just got up and started packing her things. It wasn't until they were walking along the cobblestones toward his mother's cottage that she reached over and squeezed his hand for the briefest moment before retreating again.


	5. Chapter 5

V:

* * *

"This is the first I've been able to get away," Charles apologized as his mother let him into the cottage. "Is she all right?"

Margaret scoffed and muttered, "Two days since her niece who was like her own child died, and no word from her husband at all? Chance would be a fine thing if she was all right, Charles. She's finally cried herself to sleep; hasn't touched the tea or porridge I left outside the door this morning."

"It's nearly noon –"

"And I'm not to be disturbing the first sleep she's had since Lady Ida died," Margaret snapped. "If you want to do it, I'll not stand in your way – she is your wife, after all. But I've no right to do it. She needs her rest – poor thing is exhausted."

He hesitated a moment, then sighed. "Maybe a cup of tea before I go up and wake her," he acknowledged. "Are you all right with her staying here for a time?"

"Of course – she's always welcome here," Margaret murmured. "She is my son's wife, and hopefully mother to my grandchildren – she is welcome."

"Lady Grantham is putting pressure on her husband and son to either file wrongful death charges against Elsie or to send her away without a reference," Charles said darkly. "If the latter, I do not know where she would be sent – Innsbroke House will not have her; Lady Ida's father has spoken very strongly against such a thing the moment he was informed of his daughter's death. So I suppose she would be forced back to Scotland. She's spoken of her mother –"

"But without a reference, how would she find work? And what about you?" Margaret questioned.

"My place is here," Charles said.

"Your place is with your wife," Margaret snapped.

"It isn't that simple, mum," Charles sighed. "We've been married in secret; I've not confided to anyone that we have wed, save yourself. I cannot just up and leave without notice when I have a comfortable position where I might save some money and –"

"And leave Elsie to fend for herself? For shame, Charles – I thought better of you than that!"

"What's going on down here?" Elsie asked from the foot of the stairs. She was pale, drawn, lines of exhaustion and grief slashed across her face, aging her dramatically.

"Your husband and I are having a disagreement," Margaret said. "I'm making a fresh pot of tea – would you like some, dear?"

Elsie shook her head. "I'm fine," she murmured. "What are you two fighting over? Hopefully not me; I've rather made my mind up to retreat gracefully from the stage and take a break from all of this mess."

"And you've determined this all by yourself?" Charles challenged.

"Well, what else can I do?" she asked, sitting down on the small sofa next to him, reaching out to hold his hand. "Lady Grantham won't see reason and she's baying for my blood, when all I'll do for the rest of my life is blame myself for not being there just a few minutes sooner – I might have been able to do something… but I was in bed with you."

"You don't blame me for –"

"No," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "But it seems terribly unfair that what should have been the happiest day of my life is now the worst. And we've no proper place in the world yet, you and I – mine is gone and you are Lord Robert's valet. Why should I not go away?"

"You are my wife," he countered, impotently.

"And I cannot properly be your wife right here, right now," Elsie murmured. "Not as things stand; the gossip of the village will be relentless. There would be such scandal for the Granthams in the county – maybe even as far as London when they were through. We are married, yes, but we cannot be seen to be married in the public eye – at least not now."

"I cannot just allow you to –"

"You don't have a choice," Elsie soothed, holding his hand tighter. "None at all; men don't understand these things, these… social mores. They pretend to, but the intricacies of propriety sail right over their heads." She sighed. "I will be Mrs. Carson in Scotland, because that is who I am. But when I am in England, Miss Hughes I must be – I will not shame you, Charles, and I will not destroy your chances in life because you married someone unworthy of you."

"Nonsense – you are… more than worthy."

"More worthy than Lucy?" Elsie countered softly. "I know about her, Charles; she was well-liked, respected… unlike myself."

"I love you," he shot back angrily.

"Enough," Margaret snapped.

"The discussion is closed," Elsie said firmly. "I will away to Scotland within the week and stay with my mother until I can find suitable employment. All I need from you, Charles, is to secure a letter of reference from Lord Robert – and, if needbe, tell him that I will take the blame and steer far clear of him for the rest of my life in order to secure it. And then I will be gone and life will go on."

"You're leaving me. You are actually going to… leave me." It wasn't a question; he felt his heart shredding itself into ribbons of agony and anger, but he knew her reasons to be sound.

"I haven't got much choice," she whispered. "I cannot fight the might of Lady Grantham and emerge unscathed, can I?"

He wasn't pleased by her neatly wrapping everything up with a bow; he wanted her to be willing to fight – for herself and her reputation, if nothing else – but she was walking away from the ring even before the fight was officially announced. "And if there is to be a child?" he asked.

"Don't you dare tell me you've been sneaking around and having it off," Margaret gasped, staring at him. "How disgraceful –"

"He's been taking precautions," Elsie interjected. "If there… if there is a child, they will be a Carson. I will not keep a son or a daughter from their father." She looked up at him, and he felt a sickening feeling like he had been punched in the stomach. She was willing to walk away to give him a chance at a good life; and all he wanted was to follow her to Scotland and make her a proper wife in a proper home, with a load of children at their feet to carry on.

It was a dream, only a dream; she was right. There would be a time when they could be together again, but it was not now. He could afford her only so much protection as her husband; his position was just as precarious as hers. He needed to steady himself, crack down and work his way back up the ladder – maybe even up to butler. Then he would be able to bring her home, shelter her with impunity and the dignity affording the wife of a senior member of household. That must be his life's work: to be a man worthy of the affections of Elsie Hughes, capable of caring for her and loving her as he should.

"It would make me the happiest of men to be a father," Charles said softly, "but if it is not to be, I will not dwell upon the matter. I only want you to be safe and well, Elsie." He squeezed her and exhaled a sad sigh. "I will, of course, give you money for the train fare – and send your letter of character when Lord Robert has written it. You will write to me to tell me where you are settled?"

Her lower lip was trembling as she bit it. "Aye; I will write every day, Charlie. Every day – so we aren't really so far apart as it seems."

"It might as well be the other side of the world," he complained. "I'll not be able to hold you or comfort you or wipe away your tears –"

"Aye, but I'll not be able to hear your snoring," she teased, trying to bring a bit of levity to the conversation.

"Why don't we forget the tea and I'll step out to the butcher's," Margaret suggested gently, "and the two of you can… have a private moment."

"Mum, that isn't necessary," Charles said firmly. "And it would cause more scandal than it would be worth if you were to leave us unattended – we aren't married in anyone's eyes but our own, after all."

Elsie sighed deeply and twined her fingers with his. "Alas," she murmured.

"Alas," he agreed.

* * *

"I hear you went out today; Mrs. Harper was very eager to tattle on you," Lord Robert said.

"I went to my mother's," Charles said with a frown on his lip. "Miss Hughes will be leaving for Scotland in a few days; I've given her the fare."

Robert whirled around and stared at him. "Really? So she thinks she is culpable for the death of my wife and is running away from the consequences?"

"She said that you may blame her for the incident, and it would be your right, since she already blames herself," Charles said. "She is leaving rather than being sacked and turned into a laughingstock thanks you Lady Grantham's… bullying."

Robert's manner deflated and he sighed. "Mama is a brute," he agreed. "And I do not believe Miss Hughes anymore responsible than I was. Of course, I will write her a reference – a glowing one. She is something, our Miss Hughes."

"Our Miss Hughes, m'lord?"

"Is she not your sweetheart, Carson?" Robert asked. "Surely you cannot believe me to be entirely blinkered and blind to what's around me."

Charles took a deep breath and decided if he was to be damned, it would be on his own failures and merits. "We are married, m'lord," he said in a grave tone.

"What? When?"

"Three days ago in Ripon," Charles said. "It cannot be annulled, m'lord – we have… consummated the vows."

"And you would let her just… walk away?" Lord Robert asked, aghast.

"I haven't a choice," Charles said. "She is going, with or without my consent, to spare you the agony of reliving the day over and over again, and to protect me from your mother's wrath. I do not agree with her that this is the only way, but she is convinced and will not brook an argument on the matter."

"What can I do, Carson? Anything I can do to –"

"Write the reference," Charles said firmly. "The rest is up to me – I must strive to be the husband she deserves when I can finally bring her home to me. I must earn the right to be higher than I am –"

"I do rather hate Mama having demoted you to merely my valet," Robert sighed. "As soon as I am able to reinstate you to underbutler, I shall do so –"

"Many thanks, m'lord," Charles said. "But, for now, a reference for my Elsie will do."

"You will tell me if there is anything else I might do…"

"Yes, m'lord," Charles said.

* * *

She was leaving on the milk train to York at four-thirty in the morning. Charles had made his way around the rules by staying over at his mother's the night before, on the pretense of Mrs. Carson being ill. Instead, he had held Elsie in the darkness of the spare room all night long, words between them seeming inadequate. They had made love silently, intensely, sparing none of the rawness of their emotions at the impending separation, but ever keeping it quiet as was their nature to do so. They never wanted to disturb anyone else with their private intimacy; it would be unseemly to do so.

He helped her to dress, kissing her body as the clothes covered her, branding her as his – and only his. By the time her hair was up and her coat on, he was nearly undone; his wife was leaving him, and he'd not fought for her. He was less of a man than she deserved. She deserved someone who was not a coward; he was shirking from the fight and letting her go. And for what? The misery of grief.

She kissed him gently and whispered, "I don't want to leave you. I have to go – you understand that there is a difference, don't you, Charlie?"

"All I know is that you are leaving," he said quietly, "and I do not want it."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry, Charlie –"

"Don't say it if you don't mean it, Elsie," he said firmly.

"But I do," she whispered. "I am so sorry it has to be this way –"

"Me, too," he confessed brokenly. "What am I going to do without you, Elsie?"

"You'll keep on living," she murmured. "Just as I will. Life doesn't stop just because bad things happen – or because you choose to run away rather than face the consequences."

"But you'll write."

"Every day," she agreed. "And my first letter is right here." She pressed an envelope into his hands. "Wait until I've left to read it – and my address at the farm is in the note, so you might reply if you've a need." She gave him a quick kiss and whispered, "I must go –"

"I'm coming with you, with your cases," he said firmly.

"But propriety –"

"Damn the gossips," he hissed. "I will bid my wife farewell; who knows when I will see her again."

He helped her onto the train, and watched dismally as it pulled away from the station. He sat down on one of the benches and covered his eyes with his hand for a long moment, willing himself not to weep. The gas lamp flickered in the breeze, and he took a deep breath, pulling out his letter.

* * *

 _My dearest Charles;_

 _I am writing this as you sleep; you have a beautiful curl of hair that falls over your eye when you're sleeping, and I find myself constantly amused that my gruff, staid valet looks so much like a pleased little boy when he is in my bed with me._

 _I am sorry I am leaving in the morning. I wanted nothing more than to live a life with you, to have you to hold in good times and in bad. But it is not to be. Lady Grantham would not allow it, and we all must dance to her merry jig, mustn't we? The last thing I want to do is bring shame down on your head, Charlie, darling, and I pray that you understand how difficult it is for me to leave now. I have lost my niece, my position, my credibility, and now I must lose you. My grief is overwhelming, and I must face it alone, now._

 _You are the best of men, Charles Carson, and my love for you will never waver or falter. You are the one I have been waiting for my entire life – please don't judge me harshly for saying so. I love you desperately, and will miss you with a pain worse than my grief._

 _Ever yours – and only yours,_

 _Elsie_

* * *

It was nearly dusk when they finally navigated the terrain from the railway station to the farm; it was snowing, blowing, and Elsie felt the numbness seeping into her bones. Three miles had felt like a million as they'd lost the road several times due to the crosswinds and the lack of visibility. Eventually, they approached the house, and she was helped down, half-frozen, from her perch in the milk cart.

She was ushered inside, quickly undressed by the warm, sturdy hands of her mother, and redressed in cotton and muslin, many flannel petticoats, and several heavy shawls. "There's my girl – get some color back in yer cheeks," Mary said softly. "Poor lass –"

"So cold," Elsie mumbled.

"I know, lass," Mary said gently. "This storm is a big'un. Think it'll snow all night and most of tomorrow. Lucky we've got plenty of peat for the fire and stew for your tummy."

"Mam, I – thank you."

"Nonsense," Mary said firmly. "You're my daughter. Of course you must come home to lick your wounds and start over."

"I don't want to start over," Elsie whispered.

"Of course not," Mary said softly. "No one ever does." She paused. "So, who is he, then, this man you've left behind?"

"Who says there's a man?" Elsie snapped.

"There's always a man," Mary sighed. "He's not taken advantage, has he?"

Elsie shook her head and sighed. "No, he's honourable," she murmured. "His name is Charles Carson, and we were married less than a week ago."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?" Mary shouted furiously. "Honourable my fat arse!"

"Stop," Elsie pleaded, "stop – he is a good man, mam. A better man than Lord Allenby."

"Are you in the family way?" Mary demanded.

"No," Elsie murmured. "No, I'm not. Charlie wouldn't have let me go if I were."

"He let you walk away from him, and you sit there and tell me he's a good man?" Mary scoffed. "If he ever shows his face here –"

"I love him, mam," Elsie interjected forcefully. "I love my Charlie – and nothing you say will change that. Nothing at all."

"Why on earth would a good man let his wife just leave him –"

"Because he has a good position and in time, will be in a better one," Elsie said softly. "And then we might live together again as husband and wife – right now, I cannae bear to be in that village one more moment."

Mary's rage simmered down to barely a boil. "Oh, love, let it out," she sighed. "Let it all out." She held her weeping daughter for a long time, until Elsie had cried herself to sleep. "My poor lass," Mary sighed. "My poor, poor lass."


	6. Chapter 6

VI:

It was nine days before they dug out and the farmhand made it as far as the village to post Elsie's fistful of letters and buy some much-needed supplies. Elsie, for her part, had settled back in like she'd never been gone – everything was as it had been before she'd gone into service. Which might have been a blessing – it made things easier to come back to.

Elsie was mixing scones for tea when the farmhand came back from town. "Were there any letters?" she asked anxiously when he hauled a sack of potatoes, and several other large canvas grain bags into the house.

"I've got yer precious letters in me pocket," he grumbled. "Don't suppose you've got some tea goin' spare? Cold as blazes it is."

"Kettle's on the hob," Elsie said with a small smile. "Help yourself, Jimmy – you know where Mam keeps the leaf."

"Who'd be writin' you letters, then?" he asked conversationally.

"Me husband," Elsie murmured. "Back in Yorkshire. Bit of a mess, that."

"I should say so," he agreed. "Can't imagine what it's like to be separated by that much land from me wife. Sleepin' in the barn the last few days has been enough."

"I miss him," Elsie admitted as he handed over six letters, each written and sealed neatly. "Thank you, Jimmy – for everything you've done the last few days."

"Of course, miss," he said. "I'll be off now – can you manage the last round of feeding for the cows and horses tonight? Only I'd like to go home and see my wife."

"Absolutely," Elsie agreed. Nine days away from home would be enough to drive a sane person mad. She should know. All she wanted to do was get on a train southbound again, back to England and the arms of her loving husband – and, despite what everyone else thought, oh, how he loved.

She did the afternoon rounds, still keenly aware of the absolutely frigid January weather as it seeped through even her thick woolens. And only then did she settle in to read her letters.

For all of his other qualities, Charles was a very dry composer of words. There was nothing flowery or romantic about his letters, not that she had expected anything different. Until the final letter, which was less in keeping with him, which only made him dearer to her heart.

 _My darling wife;_

 _We have had weather and I've not been able to get to the village to post these letters until now. I am certain the cold is as abysmal in Scotland as it is here. Lady Ida's funeral was not well-attended because of the storm, and I cannot help but think it was her anger at your absence. Lord Robert was thus inclined, as well._

 _I miss you dreadfully; your small kindnesses, your laughter, your smile. I never thought that I would come to care for someone so much that their mere absence from my life would cause me physical pain, but it seems to be so – my very heart aches to see you, if only for a moment._

 _Please do not feel that I am less inclined to be devoted to you because of the distance between us: I will only work that much harder to bring you home sooner. I am working with Lord Robert to find time to come up; I will tell you more when I know for certain that it will happen._

 _We have moved back into Downton Abbey. Lord Robert cannot sleep in Crawley House, and he will deliberately walk on the other side of the road rather than pass it directly. I thought originally that he did not care for Lady Ida as he might, but I see now that I was mistaken and he carries his grief around him like a cloak. He might never love another as deeply as he does Lady Ida, but he will heal eventually._

 _As for the money… it has been taken away, as the conditions of the contract were not met. This means that Lord and Lady Grantham will force Lord Robert onto the marriage market again as soon as he is out of mourning. I cannot begin to think this is a good idea, but it is none of my business, as I cannot even handle the businesses of my own marriage._

 _I long to hold you, Elsie. The nights are so cold and so is my heart._

 _Ever your devoted,_

 _Charles_

* * *

The temperature was still absolutely stark and bleak, even though it was nearly April. It had been even colder in the Highlands at the Marquess of Flintshire's wedding, and Charles was only glad that it hadn't snowed when they were there. He was glad of the sunshine and of the well-dug path of road that the coachman from the village followed. Someone had taken great pains to keep the road to Halebroke Farm open.

He drummed his fingers nervously on the sill, catching Lord Robert's attention. "Carson, do settle down," Robert laughed. "We're going to see your wife, not drag you to the executioner."

"Might be the same thing," Charles muttered as they pulled to a stop. He braced himself against the fiercely biting cold, then stepped out into the open. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs; and he thought Yorkshire winters were dismal.

He strode quickly to the front door of the farmhouse and knocked soundly. When it opened, revealing a petite – very petite, bordering on tiny- older version of Elsie, he said, "Pardon me, but I've come to see Elsie."

The woman raised a brow. "She isnae here. And what do you want with our Elsie?"

He hesitated a moment. "She is my wife."

The door slammed in his face. He took a step back, stunned by the rudeness. He pounded on the door with his fist again until it opened and she snapped, "If this is how you treat your wife, I should never let you cross my threshold, Charles Carson. Oh, dinnae look surprised – she talks of nothing but her darling Charlie. But you just left her here to rot – and I dinnae thank ye for it! She had a good living and an honest one, until you spoilt her –"

He exhaled roughly, then said, "Your daughter is the one that chose to leave Yorkshire. I am working for the both of us now and –"

Her eyes narrowed. "How dare ye –"

Lord Robert alit from the coach and said, "Carson, is there a problem?"

"No, m'lord, merely a disagreement," Charles said. "Mrs. Hughes is –"

"My name isnae Hughes. It's Campbell." The woman's arms were crossed over her chest fiercely. "Elsie and her sister were Hughes because I gave them their father's name. I've never been allowed the luxury of changing my name." She glared at him. "And tell your lord he'd better get in the house before he freezes. Our Elsie isnae here and it'll be a spell before she gets home."

"She isn't here?" Charles said, concerned. "You let her go out in this?"

"As if I could stop her from goin' into the village and collectin' the post," the woman scoffed. "And ye'd best take down your bags – there's going to be weather later and you'll not get wherever you're going."

Charles raised his brow again. "How do you know?"

She pointed at the horizon. "See the high points and the clouds? Those clouds will be here in a couple of hours. It'll be blowing and snowing something fierce by four."

"And you let Elsie go to the village knowing that?"

She shrugged. "Where were you to be stayin'?"

"The pub."

"No, you should be here," she said gruffly. "We've enough food. Bring down your bags and your lord's and send the driver back to town."

"Lord Robert, would you be opposed to staying the night here?" Charles asked.

"Of course not, old chap," Robert said cheerfully. "Let me get my bags –"

"I'll do that, m'lord," Charles said, retrieving the luggage quickly and efficiently. They entered the farmhouse and he inhaled deeply, seeing pieces of Elsie everywhere around him – the shawl Ida had given her was strewn over an old settee, her delicate work shoes were tucked away by the fire, an unfinished letter was on the lap desk in her hand. It was a small room, all one space with the kitchen, the potbellied stove and a table and chairs sharing equal space with the bookshelves and settee and a rocking chair where knitting accoutrements lay. "Where may I put the bags, ma'am?" he asked.

She turned from the stove and said, "Your Lordship will –"

"Please, call me Robert – let's not be formal now," Robert said. "I am a guest in your home, ma'am."

"And as a guest, you will take my room," she said firmly. "You will call me Mary, or Mrs. Campbell if you care enough to be formal." She lay her icy glare on Charles and muttered, "And you will share Elsie's room, of course. Assuming she wants you to."

"Of course she will," Robert said confidently. "May I be of any assistance, ma'am?"

Mary raised a brow. "Can you do anything in the kitchen?"

"Alas, I cannot –"

"Then ye cannae be of any assistance to me," Mary said, turning back to her cooking.

It was a very awkward time until the door slammed open. "Mam, it's snowing," Elsie shouted. "Has Jimmy brought in the cows? I saw Peter drove in the flock –"

"We've guests, Elsie."

"Dinnae care," Elsie snapped. "I'll go see to the damn cows meself, then – and the horses."

Charles stood up and said, "And I'll join you –"

She inhaled sharply, a bit shocked, then Elsie nodded. "Come on, then – but you'll be freezin'."

Once in his overcoat and back outside, he knew how true her words were. He helped his wife and Jimmy bring in the cows and bed down the horses and cows for the night. By the time Jimmy was squared away in the farmhand's hut, the wind was blowing so hard he had a difficult time standing upright, and Elsie's lantern was a bleak little light to light the way back to the house. He didn't know how long it took to cross the yard, but Elsie grabbed him before he could walk right past the house in the blinding snow. She pulled him inside and immediately stripped them both of their frozen outer garments. His teeth were chattering, and he was cold to the very marrow of his bones. She peeled off layer after layer of clothes until she was in a simple cotton frock, red woolen stockings, and a heavy shawl wrapped around her body.

"Charlie, you need to get out of those wet things," she insisted gently. "Come upstairs where we can talk."

"Hot tea will be ready soon," Mary promised. "Thank ye for helping with the cows –"

"You're welcome," Charles choked out.

Elsie led him up the steps to her room and barely batted an eye to see his clothes neatly hung next to hers in the closet. "What on earth are ye doin' here?" she asked softly as she helped him undress.

"We were north for the Marquess of Flintshire's wedding," he said.

"I know that," she sighed. "You said so in your letters. But why are you here?"

"Because I needed to see my wife," Charles groused softly. "Lord Robert suggested the diversion – and I wasn't inclined to tell him no."

"Did mam upset you?" Elsie murmured.

"Only for a moment," he admitted.

"She's threatened you within an inch of your life," Elsie rambled on nervously as she watched him change into dry clothes. "For letting me leave you."

"I've noticed," he said dryly. It took him a moment to realize it, but she was anxiously biting her lip and busying her hands hanging his damp clothes. "Elsie, what's the matter? Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am," she hedged. "But you'll not be so happy to see me, I think, when I change clothes."

He blinked, confused. "I don't understand."

She huffed a little and mumbled something under her breath.

"What?"

"I said… I said I'm in the family way," she repeated just a tiny bit louder.

His breath caught; she was… actually… with his…

"Dunnae look at me like that," she said, her voice cracking as tears gathered in her eyes. "Why do you think me mam wants to do you murder?"

"You didn't tell me," he said in a low, accusing tone when he'd finally recovered his wits. "How could you not tell me?"

"I didna want you to worry," she whispered.

"So you run around by yourself in a pony trap and lug around grain sacks and retrieve cows from the pasture? Why on earth would I worry about you and our child?" he asked in disbelief.

"I'll be doin' a lot worse than that by the time the bairn's here," Elsie snapped. "Do ye think me mam lets me stay here for nothing? I earn my way."

"Elsie, please," he said gently, holding his hands up in surrender. "All I'm going to do now is worry about you and our child."

"That's why I didna tell you," she said. "Because I dinna need you comin' in and actin' the hero when you aren't going to take me home. I'm the one who has to live with it, not you. I'm the one has nightmares about blood and death and… god, help me, what happens if I die like Ida?"

"You're strong," Charles said firmly.

"Oh, like you know anything," she scoffed. "Mam is a midwife – she'll not let me do anythin' too much."

"Oh, Elsie," he sighed. "Why didn't you just… tell me?"

"Because I'm scared," she mumbled. "So scared that you'll… just…"

"No," he denied gently. "Elsie, you are my wife and this is our child. I will not disown either of you, no matter what anyone has done to you in the past. I swear it. We exchanged vows, love." He helped her out of her dress, each movement careful not to spook her, and he marveled at the changes in her body – her breasts were far more full, nearly spilling out of her corset, and her corset was looser than it had been, but was still very tight against her ribcage as her body increased. A small smile crept onto his lips and he touched her corset. "That's our child in there," he said softly. "You've got to protect him or her, Elsie."

"Her," she said softly. "It's a girl. I know it."

"Well, forgive me for hoping it's a little lad," Charles said with a gentle possessiveness as he splayed his hand over her corset. "A little lad who takes more after his lovely mum than me."

"Dinna say that," Elsie whispered. "You're the most lovely man I've ever known, Charlie. And you'll be such a good da." She rested her hand atop his and leaned in for a quick kiss. "I just wish… things were different and we could be together in the open."

"God, I've missed you so much," he sighed. "It's dreadful without you."

"How do you think I feel, chasin' cows around all day and bakin' bread that's not even fit for the rubbish fire?" she countered. "I'm dreadful homesick, Charlie."

"Then come home with us," Charles said simply.

She looked as though she'd been struck; but she hid it and murmured, "I cannae. Where would I stay? No one would take me on. Can you imagine the tongues wagging the in village? Charlie… Lady Grantham would eat me up and spit me back out, and you to boot. I cannae do that to you." She inhaled deeply and pulled away from his touch. "I wouldnae ever hurt you just because I love you. And that would destroy your chances in service – it's too selfish of me to even want to –"

"Elsie, love," Charles sighed, unwilling to let her go but unable to fault her unassailable logic. He had no other marketable skills beyond those of a valet and a butler… unless you counted his skills from two years of trotting about the stage like a fool. And there was no way on god's green earth he was going back to that. He couldn't support himself, let alone a wife and a child, doing that. "I'm sorry I'm not good enough –"

"You are more than good enough," she murmured. "It's me that's not good enough. I went and got meself in a mess and now I've got to live with it. And love is wonderful and fantastic… but it doesn't make for a full belly or a roof over your head. Unless you're me mam, in which case, love away." She began to dress in heavy petticoats and a plain grey woolen dress, then crossed a heavy knit shawl over her body, tucking it into the waistband of her dress. "There's no good solution to our current predicament," she pointed out. "Unless I die in childbirth, and even then, you'll still have a bairn to raise." Her smile was sad. "I hate that I love you so much some days."

"Surely you don't mean that," he said, a bit put out by her words.

"I do," she mumbled miserably. "Makes it so much harder to let go… and even more difficult to hold on." Her face crumbled and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, balling her fingers into a fist, trying to muffle the sobs that were tearing out of her.

"Oh, love," Charles sighed, pulling her into his arms; she was stiff as a board, not wanting him to comfort her. He wasn't going to give her a choice: they had taken vows and entered into matrimony together, and even if they needed to be apart for a while, he was determined that when they were together, her burdens were his.

It wasn't until she'd calmed again, stilling in his arms with her head pressed against his chest, reminiscent of their stolen nights together, that he tried to speak again. "I've made such a mess of this – of everything," he said very quietly. "I should never have let you leave, Elsie. My position isn't as important as you are. As our marriage is."

"Nonsense," she whispered, a hiccough coming in the middle of the word. "You're more important than I ever will be – you're the one fighting in Lord Robert's corner. The man would go to pieces without you."

"And what about you?" he challenged.

She pulled back and smiled up at him unconvincingly. "I'm a tough old bird," Elsie murmured. "I'll be fine. I just… I love you so much, you see? It's hard, being apart."

"It is," he agreed.

"And you'd make a piss poor farmer, based on this afternoon," she teased.

"You're going to hold against me that I can't yank a cow into a barn?" he asked.

"Just a wee bit," she replied, smiling. "How long are you two staying?"

"Depends on the weather."

Her smile brightened. "Well, it's not going to let up for a few days," she said cheerfully. "Gives me plenty of time to remind you of all the things you should be missing with me not underfoot."

He cupped her face in his hands and drew her in for a kiss that left them both dizzy with want. "You are never under my feet," Charles rasped, his voice deeper and haggard with the effort of keeping himself contained. "God, I love you, Elsie Carson."

"Mam's going to come up and check on us –" Her eyes darted to the bed, then back to him. "Later," she promised softly.

"What about the baby?" he asked.

"You aren't going to do it any harm," she said with a small smile. "It's too small to do much harm to." Elsie adjusted her shawl, but it only drew more attention to the small swell of her belly. "I must look a right mess –"

He kissed her again, threading his fingers into the base of her bun, holding her closer to him. She moaned and met him kiss for kiss, then he released her. "Now you look like a happy wife," he whispered.

"You naughty man," she whimpered. "I am not happy – I –" Her cheeks were flushed bright red. "I want to tell me mam to sod off with tea and just… not leave bed. And not let you leave my bed, either."

He coughed and mumbled, "When bedtime comes, we will be together – unless you don't want me to –"

"Don't be ridiculous," she huffed. "Of course you'll be in my room with me. Where else would my husband be?" She reached up and pushed the errant curl of his hair off his forehead. "I suppose you're right. Tea will be ready soon and mam will be very cross if we're not there to eat. She practically forces me to eat."

"You're eating for two," he reminded her.

"I know," she sighed, "but I've been so sick lately – eggs make my stomach upset. And ham. And… well, a lot of things."

"Oh dear," he sighed.

"Yeah, your child is a handful of trouble already," she commented dryly. "I've been dying for some fresh peas and there aren't any but dried to be had anywhere in Scotland."

He kissed her forehead and murmured, "As soon as they start appearing mum's garden, I'll send you as many as you like."

"You don't have to," she whispered.

"Of course I do," he said. "You're my wife," he added, hoping that made as much sense as it had in his head. She and the child were his everything now, his reason to continue soldiering on. Of course she should have peas if she wanted them.

There was very little he would keep from her if only she wanted it.

She held his heart very firmly in those delicate hands of hers – they were far stronger than they looked, he had discovered – and she kept it very safe for him.

He just wished that she wasn't so ruddy stubborn.


	7. Chapter 7

VII:

Dinner was a slightly strained affair where Mary glared daggers at Charles and pointedly pressed barbs in his direction. Robert watched in amusement as his valet tried to dodge the volleys while Elsie got progressively more upset as the meal went on. She was moving her potatoes around her plate aimlessly when her mother snapped, "Oh for pity's sake, Elsie, I didn't make the food for you to play with it."

"I'm not hungry," Elsie mumbled.

"Leave her be," Charles said irritably. "You can have a go at me all you want, but leave Elsie out of it."

"I just don't understand how a man who claims to love my daughter would push her out the door and not even –"

"I didn't push her out the door," Charles muttered.

"Mam, how many times have I tried to tell ye?" Elsie snapped. "Charlie wanted me to stay. He wants me to go back with him. And I'm not going to do it. Because there's far more at stake here than just me – no matter how much you think you're trying to defend me and protect me, I am an adult and I have to make my own decisions. I'm not the little girl you thought you could shelter from the truth anymore."

"Now I'm curious," Robert interjected. "What truth would that be, now?"

Elsie glared at him for a moment, then went back to pushing her food around her plate. "That I'm a bastard," she said. "Not that it matters, anyway. My father always made sure we had food and shelter and clothes, which means we were always better off than most." She reached over and held Charles's hand under the table with her free hand. "But I'm a wife now, and I've got to learn to make my own mistakes now."

"Marrying being one of them," Mary grunted. "You should never have –"

"Kindly do stop it," Charles said. "We have done it, and it's legal and binding. I would not grant Elsie a divorce even with just cause – we love one another and we've created a child in love. I don't know how things will play out, but I will bring Mrs. Carson home as soon as I can make a home for our family. It requires planning, steady income, and patience – the latter of which being something you seem to lack, Mrs. Campbell."

"Please let's not quarrel," Elsie said weakly. "I feel sick to my stomach."

Mary immediately got up and grabbed a mixing bowl, holding it carefully under Elsie's chin as she had done for weeks; Elsie gratefully vomited and cried pitifully as her tea and little bit of dinner came up again. Morning sickness, her arse – it was every evening, strong and vile.

"There now, love," Mary soothed. "Poor little one is all in a tizzy…"

"Is it any wonder?" Robert asked, setting aside his fork. "Are you quite all right, Mrs. Carson?"

Elsie wiped her mouth with her napkin and nodded. "Aye," she murmured. "I'll be fine."

Charles reached over and gently put his hand on her thigh, his eyes searching her face for any signs of distress. "Elsie, how long has this been going on?" he asked.

"Since before I left England," she admitted quietly.

"It's a wonder you're keeping anything down at all," he said softly.

"I know," she agreed. "It's worst in the evening. And when I'm upset."

Robert cleared his throat. "I don't know what you could possibly be upset about," he said sarcastically.

Charles held Elsie's hand tightly. "Shall we go upstairs, then?" he inquired. "Maybe it will settle your stomach if you're not surrounded by food."

Mary glowered at him. "I've been taking care of her all this time –"

"Yes, mam, you have," Elsie snapped, "but now my husband is here and it is time for you to stop interfering. It isn't fair of you to hold him responsible for my decisions. And he is too much of a gentleman to tell you to close your mouth."

"I think it is time for me to retire as well," Robert said. "Before this escalates further. Carson, will you please attend, then you will be free to spend your time with Mrs. Carson until morning."

Elsie blushed but smiled gratefully at Robert. "I'll wash up, mam," she volunteered.

Once the men had retreated, Elsie started clearing the table. "Mam, he's a good man; it won't do for you to keep being so cruel to him. He makes me happy and I do love him so verra much," she said softly as she washed the dishes.

"He isn't fit to lick your boots come in from the barn," Mary muttered. "And he's Sassenach."

"Maybe so," Elsie agreed, "but he's my Sassenach, mam. And as long as he and Lord Robert are here, I need you to be civil if nothing else. I am the one that decided it would be better if I weren't in Downton any longer – I went before I could be thrown out. And I willnae do anythin' to jeopardize Charlie's career. Well, anythin' more than I already have."

"He needs to step up and take responsibility for the fact that he's fathered a child –"

"You mean unlike me da?" Elsie countered. "Charlie was already sending money. He is supporting us just as much as Lord Allenby is, and it means far more even if the amount is less. I am not going to chastise my husband for saving money in order to purchase a cottage for us in the village when I am to come home."

"He should take you home right now and –"

"And lose his position? Mam, you've been in service long enough to know what happens to people when they marry," Elsie sighed. "But you've been privileged enough to not have to worry about it yoursel'. Da would keep you fed and clothed and… loved… no matter what. Even when he were married."

"Obviously he didn't love me enough to keep from forcin' me to retire," Mary snapped. "And if you think he's written me once or come to the farm… you're dreaming."

"He loves you," Elsie whispered. "He just needs time to come to terms with everythin'. He's lost Ida just as much as I have."

Mary angrily tucked a sheet over the settee. "I get me pension like clockwork and a bit extra now you're here. But money ain't everythin'."

"Please," Elsie murmured, "try to be nice for Charlie's sake. He loves me and wants to help as he can, mam."

"I just want to protect you –"

"You have, mam," Elsie promised. "You've done your best to protect me – you let our Becky go when she got married. And now you've got to let me try to… to get on with it as best I can, eh? I'm not a young lass, mam. I'm old enough to know me own mind. And me own heart. And my Charlie owns my heart, even if he doesn't know what to do with it most of the time."

"Then why does he have it in the first place?" Mary's words weren't meant to sound as harsh as they came out; Elsie knew that from years of her mother's moods.

"He's got a mask that makes him an unfeeling valet and a good butler," Elsie said after a long moment of thought. "But I think his mam and I are the only two people who have ever seen the real Charles Carson. He was very kind to me when I came to Downton and we became friends before anythin' untoward happened." She blushed a little. "We were lovers before we married," she admitted quietly. "I think I was… with child… before I left."

"I know you were," Mary sighed. "So I couldn't believe you were capable of being so unbelievably stupid as to leave your husband."

Elsie shook her head and sighed. "I couldn't stay with his mam any longer and Lady Grantham gave me my marching orders. How do you justify… hurting the man you love just to stay?"

Mary punched a pillow and muttered, "It's difficult."

"I'm not talking about Lord Allenby," Elsie said. "You and I have very different lives, mam, and I don't mean to upset or demean you –"

"I hate him and I love him and I bloody well hate how it feels," Mary grumbled, exasperated. "And your Charles is nothing like Bruce Hughes – your Charles runs true, doesn't blow hot and cold. So you just dry your hands and go see your man. I dunnae ken how long the storm will last or how soon he'll be gone again. So just try to be happy while you can, my little Elsie May."

Elsie didn't need telling twice. She dried her hands and took the uneven steps two at a time until she was right outside her bedroom door, biting her lip and hoping that her Charlie was waiting. She knocked and then stepped through. The hurricane lamp was burning at the bedside, illuminating the room. Charles was just about in his pajamas, halfway into putting on his shirt when she burst in.

"Hello," she murmured.

"Hello yourself, Mrs. Carson," he said as he finished dressing.

She closed the door and cleared her throat. "Mam's not really herself today," she said softly. "I'm apologizing for her – she'll try to do better tomorrow."

"She doesn't have to," he said dully. "I know I'm a miserable sod that doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as my goddess of a wife –"

"Just you stop right there," Elsie murmured, crossing the room in two long strides and kissing him without warning or preamble. "Do you have any idea – any at all – how much I love you, Charlie Carson?"

"I think I do," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers, "but I don't think I've done much to deserve it."

"Oh, but you have," she whispered back. "Ever so much. I wouldnae married you if you didnae deserve every bit of my affections, m'love. And I certainly wouldn't be in the family way if you didnae deserve me." She reached up and stroked his cheek, the stubble biting at her fingertips. "Help me undress and then I can show you just how much you deserve me, my darlin' man."

He took his time, worshipping her skin with tender, peppering kisses that burned wherever he left them. When she finally stood naked in the room, her skin was covered in gooseflesh from the chill in the air and the warmth from her arousal, and he was pressing open-mouthed kisses to her belly, then lower. She gasped and bit her own hand so she wouldn't make another sound that might disturb Robert next door. Charles propelled her to the bed, guiding her onto her back. "You are perfect," he vowed. "So beautiful, my Elsie –"

"Don't trifle with me," she murmured. "I am… chubby and not at all pretty. My nails are ragged and my hands are calloused and –"

"Beautiful," he contradicted. "You are perfect to me."

Her eyes welled up with tears. "You are… you are the sweetest man and you're all mine," she sobbed out in wonder. She still didn't entirely know how she had managed to snare such a catch as Mr. Charles Carson, nor how he'd not gone off her yet.

"Oh, Elsie, love, don't cry," he whispered, kissing her tears away. "My sweetheart, don't cry – I'm sorry I upset you –"

"You didnae upset me," she breathed. "I promise. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat anymore."

"Is that down to the baby?" he asked worriedly.

"Mam says it's normal," Elsie sighed. "Don't you worry about me, Charlie – I'm fine, aside from being a bit of a porker now." Her frown returned; she had always been so very proud of her figure and now it was not so much an hourglass as it was becoming a wobbly sphere.

"You are round in all the right places," he said softly. "I can rest my head on your bosom and I'll lose myself in your thighs and belly… and I will be so glad of every moment I can hold you."

"It sounds so nice when you say it," she murmured.

"And I can't wait to grab your bottom when you're on top of me," he threw out softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Her cheeks flushed; he'd never given up the bone of knowledge that she was always happiest and best sated when she was on top. "Charlie," she gasped. "How improper of you to say –"

"I'm allowed to say such things to my wife," he pointed out. He leaned in and whispered, "I want you to have your wicked way with me, Elsie May Carson. I want you to come apart and be blissfully happy. I want you to have as much pleasure as I can give you."

"I want you," she breathed. "I just want you." Their lips met in a searing kiss that was as much about possession as it was passion. He owned her, she owned him, neither of them backing down from that most intimate pact. She found his buttons and worked at them as they kissed and he touched her in ways both shockingly intimate and familiar. It took what seemed to be ages to get him as naked and exposed to the night as she was; but once he was, it was a different matter altogether. He was already hard and ready; her nipples stood to bloody attention with the cold and with her arousal, and he went in for the kill. She buried her cries of need in her arm rather than let them escape.

At Crawley House, it had been so easy to stay quiet. They'd had everything to lose by making noise. Here, it was more inconvenient than wrong; but she still felt the need to be compassionate and smother her cries.

He sank into her, eliciting a humming moan that she bit back. He helped move her legs into a comfortable position around his hips and kissed her senseless, inhaling the warmth of her kisses and the depth of her whimpers and moans. Every move, every thrust, felt like her world was imploding, coming in closer and closer until they were the only thing that mattered. There was only Charles and Elsie. Nothing else mattered.

He came first, a raging torrent of barely restrained passion, need, and lust. She was swept behind in his wake, careful not to drown. He rolled them onto their sides, still together, and held her close beneath the heavy blankets. "My wife," Charles whispered in wonder.

"My husband," she echoed sleepily, her hand splayed possessively on his buttocks. "Don't leave me," she whispered. "Please be here when I wake up."

Elsie just wanted to know he wasn't a dream.

* * *

The oil lamp was still burning away pleasantly when Elsie woke up again. It was the sole source of warmth in the room – aside from her dear Charles, that is – and cast a gentle glow around the bed. For his part, her husband was still asleep, his jaw slack as he breathed in and out slowly and evenly. She reached over and gently traced the new lines on his face; he'd aged since she'd left, and she didn't like it one bit. He had more silver hairs coming in around his hairline and there were lines appearing around his eyes and mouth of the most severe kind.

His eyes opened suddenly and she jolted, withdrawing her fingertips. "Are you cold?" he asked sleepily.

"A bit," she murmured.

"Me, too," he agreed.

"I've got another blanket," she volunteered.

"We've got each other," he reminded her with a cheeky smirk. "What time is it?"

"Gone one," Elsie said softly, not willing to tell him that she spent so many hours awake at night anymore that she knew just by the feel of the thing. "Too early to get up and bother mam."

"Who said anything about bothering your mum?" he asked softly.

"I usually get up about now and make a cuppa," Elsie admitted very quietly. "We go to bed about eight, then I'm up four or five times in the night."

Concern flashed in his eyes; the lines around his mouth deepened as he frowned. "Elsie, you're not sleeping, either?" he asked worriedly.

"It's difficult without my human hot water bottle," she teased gently, hoping to deflect his line of questioning, to ease his burden of worry so those lines would ease just a little. She didn't want to the be the cause of his suffering: she wanted only to love him now whilst she had the opportunity. She reached up and stroked his face again, and he eased into a wary smile. "Tell truth, I can keep food down overnight, but not during most of the day. I have a few snacks before morning."

"Do you need me to go down and get –"

"I've got oatcake and dried apple in the drawer," she murmured. "I'm fine." She pulled on that unruly curl of hair that rested on his forehead, smirking when it bounced back into place again. "I thought I might've been dreaming," Elsie breathed. "Such a nice dream. But then I woke up and you were still here… and I'm so happy you are."

He leaned in and kissed her very gently. "I'm not leaving till Lord Robert says," he said softly. "And then I'll be back hopefully in time for the baby to be born – when will that be, do you think?"

"Mam thinks it will be late July." Elsie pulled him closer, seeking warmth and comfort in his arms. "I've not really known her to be wrong about such things. She were a midwife before she went to the Castle." _Before she became my father's live-in mistress_. There were so many things she did not want to say, could not bear to disclose to anyone – even Charles – for the shame of herself and her mam. How her grandfather had turned them out of the farm when Elsie was four when Becky came along. How he had changed his will to leave Elsie the farm when she was old enough to prove a logical head of the family and not flighty and prone to desire like her mother – and, oh, how he was being proved wrong now! How her father had acknowledged her as his child, but had never really done anything about it aside from providing money – not that she could expect more. She knew the shame and stigma of illegitimacy and heartache, wore it like a cloak around her shoulders, allowed it to shape her personality, her kindness, her strength. But Charlie saw beneath that protective barrier and saw her for everything she really was, maybe the only person who ever could.

His fingers played over her hip, and he whispered, "Have you heard anything from him since you came back?" he asked.

She shook her head. "A footman comes with an envelope of money like clockwork every week, and mam puts it away. The farm will sort itself," she said quietly. "I do the books and make sure that everything runs smoothly, but it's been in her hands all this time. I don't know what I'd do without her and Jimmy – he's been managing it for years." She took a deep breath. "But I'm back now and it's my responsibility to make sure all is right."

"How so?" he asked softly.

"It's my farm," she said simply. "It'll be our son's when time comes."

There was a long silence, then he said, "Or our daughter's."

"If there's a boy child, it will go to him," she whispered. "It's the law, isn't it? Now I've married, what's mine is yours – you could sell it out from under us and use the money to buy a shop, get out of service, a public house or a hotel or –"

A fleeting look of anguish crossed his face. "Is that what you think of me? That I would take what's yours and dispose of it rather than –"

"No, but it stands to be said," she whispered. "When I married you, all my possessions became yours, Charles Carson. I only hope you will be kind about selling up and help me mam find a home –"

"I am not selling up," he said firmly. "And you aren't listening: this farm is yours. It is not mine. It will never be mine, not properly. It is your birthright and who am I to take it away?"

Her birthright? Her birthright was shame and illicit whispers; clandestine meetings and gossip in the streets, unkind words in the church of all places. Her birthright was a scarlet B painted on her forehead, large as life and twice as painful. The farm wasn't home – not anymore. Maybe it never had been.

Her home was wherever he was; right now, it was in a double bed that she had shared for so many years with her sister, in the middle of a raging blizzard, wishing for all the world that she could just tell him that all she needed, all she wanted, was him.

She doesn't want him to see her vulnerability; she must always be strong, in control, for him if nothing else. He doesn't know that she is fragile and terrified that he will wake up one morning and realize that he's made such a mistake in choosing her. She was born of sin, and she is not immune to sin herself. She has coveted, desired, and taken – most recently, she has stolen him, and all for herself. Theirs is an original sin, dancing to temptation and giving in, just as with the serpent and the apple. And they will be punished for it accordingly.

His lips are gentle and tender as he kisses her; she responds in kind, knowing that there is not a wicked bone in her man's body. He has only sinned because of her, a wicked bastard born of lust and wantonness, destined only to repeat the cycle. But he is honorable and has taken her as is out of an obligation to propriety and maybe even piety – and it worries her. What else would he give up for her? It is not a question she wants to contemplate.

The doubts, the fears, are piling up and have become overwhelming. She suddenly bursts into tears and tries to push him away, to gain space, to breathe, but he gently wipes her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, kisses her cheeks, and whispers soft assurances that make her feel even worse. He doesn't know the shame she carries; only sees what is on the outside. He doesn't have to listen to the harsh words, the gossip, the punters talking about how there was no Mr. Carson and she'd made him up to hide an illicit affair that had got her pregnant. He is a man: he is immune to everything that cuts her down like a scythe.

"Elsie, love, please," he whispered. "Tell me what's wrong –"

 _Everything. Nothing._

She wanted to scream and cry and tell him everything, but she knew her pain was a powerful weapon and he would use it against her. Arguments would erupt and he would throw bits of her past, of her reality at her and it would destroy her. Some things could not be recovered from.

"I need you," she rasped, the words harsh and barely true.

He assumed she meant physically; she meant it in so many other, darker, more twisted ways. She needed him and the moment he walked away again, she would wither and die a slow, agonizing death. But for now… for that moment… he was bringing out the worst in her – the passion and desire that marked her as a woman of no morals trotting out front and center on display.

It was not gentle; she nipped and dug her nails into his back. If she was damned, she needed him on the same path – she could not endure Hell if he was not at her side. Desperation tinged their caresses, and he was a gentleman – he did not hurt her, but he did touch her with such need that she had light bruises ghosting across her skin. The bed creaked and groaned with their harsh, unfulfilled need. His hands cupped her breasts, roughly massaging her nipples as she rode him like a woman possessed. Her nails bit into his chest, drawing blood. This was not her; this was some demon unleashed inside her and her heart shredded to pieces as she realized what she'd done. She shuddered and wept, physical need dying in the aftermath of her climax, to be replaced by a stark emptiness where her heart should have been. He was on his back beneath her, eyes closed, breathing ragged but steady.

His face was one of bliss, but she couldn't fathom why.

"Elsie," Charles breathed, smiling up at her. "That was…"

"Awful," she choked out. "I hurt you –"

"You didn't," he said, opening his eyes and seeing that she was weeping again. "Elsie, you didn't – I'm fine."

"You're bleeding," she whispered.

"Only a touch," he contradicted. "Love, it's all right."

"No, it's not," she spluttered. "I hurt you – it's all I do. I hurt you, Charlie. I'm no good for you – I'm not good enough to be your wife and now you're stuck with me and I'm sorry – I am so sorry –"

* * *

He stared at her blankly; where on earth was this coming from? "Elsie, love," Charles said softly, "you've not hurt me. I promise. And I want to be stuck with you, darling." He reached for her, but she pulled back, nearly falling off him as she reacted violently. "Sweetheart?"

"I've hurt you time and again," she whispered, getting up in the cold and putting on a nightgown and dressing gown. "I didnae tell you about the farm. I didnae tell you about the bairn. I didnae tell you till it was too late that I am a bastard. I'm a wicked, awful person, and you dinnae want me – "

He could see her belief in her words and it shook him to the very core: how could she believe any of it? Yes, he had been a bit cross that she'd not told him she was in the family way, but that had dispelled the moment he knew why she'd not spoken of it. He knew her fears, mirrors of his own, and he could not fault her for them. But the rest? Nonsense. He didn't care about the farm – he didn't care that she was illegitimate. All he cared about was her.

"Elsie, would you stop?" he said sharply, startling her into silence. "I know you don't believe me, and why would you when everything else in your world has conditioned you to believe otherwise, but I don't care about your farm and your parentage. I don't. I love you, not who everyone else thinks you are. Do you understand? I love you. I wouldn't have married for anyone that did not… that did not make me believe that there is God in this world." He stood up, shivering in the chill, very aware that his manhood was actively attempting to retreat into his body and other parts of him were averse to the harsh Scottish cold. "Elsie, look at me," he pleaded. She looked up at him, naked and vulnerable as he was, and he held his hand out to her. "You are not wicked, nor are you awful, love. You are beautiful and so strong and amazing to my eyes – and I am not worthy of you. I never will be; but you chose me and I chose you."

"You could've done so much better than me," she whispered.

"Never," he said very softly. He crooked his fingers, beckoning her closer. "I understand, Elsie. Better than you know. But you need to trust me, sweetheart. Please."

"I do," she whispered. "But I don't trust meself."

"You don't have to," he said. "Just… just trust me." Her hand found his, finally, and he pulled her close, holding her tightly as she would allow him to. "Love, it will be all right," he promised. "It will be all right. I'm not upset – I'm not."

She was crying again, maybe she had never really stopped. It hurt him to see her so miserable, but she did not share her burdens lightly; she was cracking and he was afraid she would break, but she was stronger than anyone else knew. He didn't even attempt to wipe away her tears, merely held her and let her cry.

Of course he knew she was illegitimate: she had told him so herself many times. It was a dark stain and a stigma, but he didn't care. It was not her fault that she had been born into the world in such a manner; he found himself wondering how long she had blamed herself for the sins of her parents. Of course he knew that there would be gossip surrounding her, low whispers and outright lies. He knew from her telling of it – low and quiet during one of their nights together – that she had been forced by several village boys to raise her skirts at a young age because she was a whore like her mother. None of it was truth, but it hadn't protected her.

He hadn't been there to shelter her, to give her strength, to give her a name to hide behind and a support to lean against when her knees gave out.

Of course he knew she was terrified witless of childbirth, and with good reason. And yet, he had planted a baby in her belly without thinking of the consequences, of the terror and madness it could have – indeed, had – inspire in her. Fear was a powerful motivator, a powerful decimator… she was coming apart at the seams and it was his fault.

He needed to bring her home, to save her from herself. He needed her; just the few hours they'd been together, he felt younger and happier than he had since she'd gone. And she needed him.

She stilled in his embrace and whispered, her voice low and hoarse, "I am sorry."

"Don't be," he breathed. "Don't you ever say that again, Elsie Carson – not to me. You don't ever need to apologize to me."

"Even when I'm wrong?" she whimpered.

"Especially when you're wrong," he said firmly. "Because you aren't – not really."

Her tears began afresh, and all he could do was hold her. It wasn't enough, but it was all he had left to give.

* * *

Seven days together wasn't nearly enough. Elsie watched with sadness as Charles packed his suitcase again, and she whispered, "I want to go home."

He turned and looked at her for a long moment, several emotions plain on his face; sadness, anger – no, frustration -, and dismay. "Soon," he promised. "After our son –"

"Our daughter," she contradicted.

"After the baby is born," he promised. "I will start putting out the word that I've taken a wife and I'll seek a new position or… or a shop. Something. Anything."

"I love you," she murmured plainly, without artifice or intent.

"And I love you," he agreed. "So much, Elsie."

They had talked, openly, frankly, spilling secrets until they were devoid of anything between them. In some ways, seven days had been too many, and in others, not enough. He was just as broken as she was, but in different ways. They had to be better for one another, for their children – because he wanted as many as she could safely bear. And she was not averse to having a passel of little ones at her feet, loving them as dearly as only children could – even his gentle words about childbirth and her trauma had calmed her. He had reasoned (as only he could) that his mother had borne three sturdy children (nevermind that one had been carried off by measles, and one had been carried off by an accident involving slate tiles and a roof three stories up), and her own mother had borne three sturdy children of her own (but they never spoke of wee Hamish, who had died from scarlet fever at eighteen months – Elsie only vaguely remembered her brother at all), and she was strong and everything would be all right.

But now he was leaving, taking that fragile peace with him. She wasn't entirely certain how she could go on without him.

Can't go on; must go on.

"Soon," she whispered.

That word held so much promise and hope, and she would cling to it like a lifeline.

 _ **Soon**_.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII:

"Mum, I need to bring her home," Charles said softly, pacing his mother's sitting room like a caged beast. "I don't know how – but she's utterly miserable and it's my fault for not having a spine and standing up for her. Us. Our family." The words tumbled from his lips and he glanced over at her, brow furrowed.

"Surely things aren't that bad," Margaret said, stirring her sugary sweet tea.

"She's with child."

Margaret's hand stilled, then she tried to cover up her reaction. "Is she now?"

"It's mine."

"Obviously, you being her husband – god knows, she looks at you like you walk on water, Charles." Margaret's tone was neutral.

"I would've thought you'd be over the moon," he said.

"It's complicated and messy – I don't like complications," she pointed out.

"How is it complicated?" he asked, aghast at his mother's coldness. "Elsie is my wife. This is our child. There is nothing complicated about that."

"Have you given any thought to your reputation? You are considered an honorable, moral man – this will tear all of that to shreds. A secret wife and child… just dumped into the middle of Downton. Charles, it is far more complicated than you know – you might lose your position and then what? How will you provide for them? Where will they stay? Do you even think things through before you propose them?"

"She could stay here," he said simply.

"Were you going to ask me before you moved her into my home?" Margaret countered.

"Mum, Elsie is family –"

"It's a tad convenient that she's expecting so soon –"

Charles stopped pacing abruptly. "She suspected she was pregnant when we married," he said in a deathly cold tone devoid of emotion. "And she feels as though she used the baby to snare me – and it was nothing of the sort. Nothing at all of the sort." He ran his hands through his hair and resumed pacing. "We carried on a physical love affair for months before we were legally bound. Is it any wonder she is with child now?"

Margaret's eyes were wide. "You married her to keep your secret –"

"No, _mother_ ," he said, the words sarcastic and scathing, "I married her because I love her and I cannot imagine another day in my life without her in it. I married Elsie to protect her from the world that has been so damnably unkind toward her, and I married her because… because I've never needed anyone as I need her." His voice was soft and a bit wary by the end. "I love her, mum. And I love our child."

Margaret exhaled deeply, then murmured, "Thank god you're doing this for the right reasons and not out of duty like your da." A small smile cracked her lips and she said, "Charlie, of course Elsie must come live here. She and the baby are very welcome – any time. She is family, after all."

He stared at her. "Mum…"

"I just needed to be certain you weren't being like every other damn man on the planet and being noble and 'I must take responsibility for this woman's mistakes'," Margaret said gently.

"Elsie doesn't make mistakes," he said softly.

"Oh, everyone makes mistakes, Charles," Margaret sighed. "Believe me, everyone makes mistakes. But she will be happier here, I think, from what you're saying."

"I don't know how I'm going to keep my position," he admitted. "Valets cannot be married – and Lady Grantham is especially strict."

"But you are Lord Robert's man, and he is entitled to fight to keep you," she pointed out. "And I have no doubt he will."

"Lady Grantham won't allow it," Charles muttered.

"Oh, you leave that woman to me," Margaret scoffed. "I know one or two of her dirty little secrets, and if it means my son is happy, I will gladly give them up." She sipped her tea. "Now pick a day and I will go to Scotland and fetch your bride."

"Tomorrow," he said very quietly, earnestly, feeling need and desire and petty want wash over him like a wave. He hadn't joked about not wanting to live another day without her: he practically itched and ached with the want to have her even within arm's length.

"I don't think tomorrow is possible," she said gently, "but I will endeavor to have her home within the month."

He nodded, understanding only a little of what she wasn't telling him. But it burned brightly in his heart: his Elsie, his sweet, lovely Elsie, was coming home.

* * *

"She's not here," Elsie said through the crack in the door. "She's out with the lambs."

"I'm not here to see your mother," Bruce Hughes, Lord Allenby, said gruffly.

"You should be – as much time as she's wasted on you…"

A tiny smile quirked up his lip. "You're a right sassy one, just like my mother," he commented dryly. "The apple is close to the tree."

Elsie muttered, "I wouldn't know. Come in, I'll make tea."

"The last time we spoke, you were about to leave for England to care for my granddaughter," he said carefully.

"Yes," she said, putting the kettle onto the stove. "Years and years ago," Elsie added pointedly.

He exhaled and said, "I see you've taken up in your mother's footsteps –"

Elsie's hand protectively splayed over her belly. "My husband and I are very anxious for our little one to enter the world safely," she said in a decisive, pointed fashion.

"They say you're calling yourself Mrs. Carson in the village –"

"I am Mrs. Charles Carson," she snapped.

"And where is your husband now?" he countered.

"I would assume him to be at Downton Abbey," she growled, "where he is valet to Lord Robert Crawley, heir to Lord Grantham."

He shook his head. "You could have done so much better than that – than a valet," he said. "What about Joe Burns? He owned land and –"

"I didn't love him," she said simply.

"What does love have to do with anything?" he countered. "Love only serves to make you miserable –"

"What do you want?" she asked, cutting him off. "Since you don't want me mam."

"Is that what she told you?" he scoffed. "That I didn't want her?"

Elsie shrugged and wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "Mebbe."

"Well, that's a lie – I proposed to the woman and she had the gall to turn me down!"

She stopped, deeply shocked and rocked to her very core. "What?"

"I proposed marriage to your mother – the only woman in my life I have ever actually loved – and she turned me down flat."

"She wouldnae lie about that," Elsie said sharply. "Did you do it in jest or –"

"No, I said that it made no sense for her to invest so much time in being the housekeeper when she should be mistress of the house."

"Of all the stupid things to say!" Elsie cried. "Of course she turned you down! You ungrateful beggar – she gave you three children and the best years of her life and you didn't even say that you loved her when you proposed a nightmare to her!"

"A nightmare? A life as my wife is a nightmare now, is it?"

"You gave her no hope of love or of any kind of affection at all, that she would just be… no better than she had been as your housekeeper. But now she would be your wife – yes, to mam, that is a nightmare," Elsie countered furiously. "How could you? After everything –"

"I didn't mean… Christ, can't I talk to you in peace without –"

"This is my home," Elsie said firmly, "and you may speak to me as you wish, but I will reserve the right to turn you out."

He nodded stiffly. "You are with child," he said needlessly. "If that child is a lad, I will name him my heir."

"It's a girl," she murmured.

"You can't possibly know that."

"And you cannae take my bairn from me because you couldn't father a son who could live," she hissed. "This is _my_ child. _**Mine**_."

"He is my grandson and he would want for nothing – he would have a fine education, an expansive estate, a fortune –"

"He would want for me and my Charles," Elsie said, holding herself tighter still. "He would want for his parents – you cannae have him. You can't."

"Elsie, I am offering everything to the child of my bastard –"

"How dare you?" she whispered, stricken. "As if I needed your censure, too – you know the entire county looks down their noses at me? Even the ones definitely worse off than me – the… ladies of the night. They all pity me because I am your beget and no mistake." She straightened her spine. "All I ever wanted was a father who cared about me – and I will never have that from you. Take your offer and leave."

"You'll not get another penny –"

"I didn't want your money," she whispered. "I just wanted a father who loved me."

"I do love you, Elsie –"

"No," she said very quietly. "You don't. It was always about mam. I'm just… collateral damage." She smiled sadly and murmured, "I'll tell her you called. And that… you miss her and want to see her."

He hesitated. "Will you?"

She nodded. "I will."

She waited until he was gone to sit down on the settee, her hands running over her belly soothingly. Mary came in and said, "Was that –"

"Lord Allenby?" Elsie said quietly. "Yes." She looked up at her mother. "He loves you and misses you and wants to see you." She looked back down at herself and sighed. "But not here. Not ever here again, mam."

* * *

Elsie was planting herbs when the hire cart pulled up the drive. She stood up and went to greet her visitor, surprised to see Margaret alight from the carriage. "Mrs. Carson," she greeted softly, wiping her hands on her apron, trying to get all the dirt off of them.

Margaret, for her part, ignored the mess altogether and threw her arms around Elsie. "Oh, Charles said you look so well, and he's not lied in the slightest – look at you, darling…"

"What are you doing here?" Elsie asked anxiously.

"I've come to fetch you home, love," Margaret said gently.

"I… I cannae go now," Elsie murmured. "It's too close to time."

"I would've thought you'd be chomping at the bit to get back to Charles –"

"I am. But the baby dropped today and mam's worried it's only going to be a few more days instead of weeks," Elsie admitted very softly. "She's sent for Dr. Harvey from Edinburgh and a proper nurse. I'm a bit scared now, but what do I know?"

"Do I need to summon Charles?"

Elsie shook her head. "I sent Jimmy with a letter earlier this morning for the express post," she murmured. "I only hope he can get away."

"Where is your mother now?"

Elsie shrugged. "She's gone to the Castle to take tea," she said softly. "I don't know when she'll be back. Or even if it will be tonight."

"What kind of a mother leaves her very pregnant daughter all alone to go off and have tea?" Margaret scoffed.

"The kind who made a terrible mistake and now has to eat humble pie," Elsie commented dryly. "Come in and have a cuppa?"

"And what will your mother say when she comes home and finds you have company?" Margaret countered.

"It's not her place to tell me who and when I may see someone," Elsie said. "It's my house, not hers." She waved the driver down from the hire cab and asked him to bring Margaret's bags inside. "You can take my bed," she volunteered. "I cannae manage the stairs and still go out to the loo now I'm so big, so I sleep on the settee."

"I couldn't possibly take your bed, darling –"

"No, I insist," Elsie murmured, sitting down gingerly on the settee and closing her eyes, breathing deeply. "The bairn's stuck an elbow in me kidney."

"Charles used to roll around like a lad possessed, then he'd kick up into my ribs and make me ill," Margaret laughed. "I'm afraid I was quite pleased that he was my first – he was a very easy birth. Four hours and change for a ten pound bounder."

"Ten pounds?" Elsie echoed weakly. "Oh dear."

"Don't worry – you'll be fine," Margaret assured her. "Can I put the kettle on?"

Elsie smiled gratefully. "Would you mind? I need to lie down a bit. My back is aching something fierce after working on the herbs."

"Is it any wonder?" Margaret asked.

"I pitched hay for the horses this morning," Elsie said off-handedly. "There's no shirking in farming."

"You need to be resting," Margaret scolded. "You're going to hurt yourself or the baby."

"I'm fine," Elsie dismissed softly.

She drifted off to sleep, startling awake when the door slammed open. "Well, lass, that's gone and dusted," Mary called loudly. "Yer father's bein' less of a twat now."

Elsie groaned, shifting and trying to alleviate some of the intense pain radiating down her back. "Mam, I need an aspirin," she whimpered. "Mrs. Carson, did I sleep through the tea?"

"I didn't want to wake you, darling," Margaret said gently.

Mary blew into the room, taking off her boots as she went, then paused and said, "Elsie May Hughes, who on earth is that?"

"Charlie's mam," Elsie countered. "I need an aspirin – where are you keeping them?" she asked weakly. The pain suddenly got worse and she bit back a whimpering cry that could easily have become a scream if she'd let it.

"She was planting herbs when I arrived," Margaret said. "And she says she was pitching hay this morning – she might have strained her back."

"Where does it hurt?" Mary asked, helping Elsie to sit up.

"Me back, me hips… me legs feel not at all right," Elsie exhaled weakly. "It's gettin' worse."

Mary gently rubbed her daughter's back, then said, "Have your waters broken yet?"

"Mam, no, it's too early –"

"Elsie May, you're in labor, make no mistake," Mary said firmly. "Now you'd better just breathe because no amount of aspirin is going to help."

"It's too soon," Elsie said, voice rising in panic. "It's too soon –"

"A baby is never too soon," Mary countered. "It's always right on time when it's meant to arrive. Have your waters broken, lass?"

"In the herb patch, I wet meself," Elsie admitted very quietly.

Mary blinked, then looked up at Margaret. "There are towels in the linen closet upstairs," she said firmly. "I need water on the boil and we're going to need as many pillows as you can find."

"But the doctor's not even here yet," Elsie protested.

"Your little lass isnae about to wait for a doctor," Mary said. "You put your feet right here and here," she instructed, moving Elsie's feet into position, "and I'm goin' ta have a look under yer skirts, Elsie May." A couple minutes later and a little bit of prodding and poking later, Mary said, "It won't be long now – you'll feel a need to push, but dinnae do it yet, love."

Margaret came down the stairs, her arms full of towels and pillows. She and Mary worked to make Elsie as comfortable as they could as Elsie moaned and writhed with each intense pain that gripped her. The pains were coming closer and closer together, beginning to overlap into a constant agony that kicked her heartbeat into a panic state of overdrive.

"Keep breathing, love," Mary insisted.

She felt something shift and an intense urge – stronger than any urge she'd ever known – to bear down and push flooded her system. She fought it hard, panting and gasping. "Mam – "

"When you feel the next pain, you can push," Mary said from her place between her daughter's legs.

Elsie pushed and pushed, never cursing, never sparing breath for anything but fuel to push again. Then the pain and pressure alleviated, and she went limp with exhaustion. A tiny, feeble cry escaped the baby and she closed her eyes, knowing that her mam had everything under control. "It's a girl," Mary said softly. "Elsie, love, you were right –"

"I'm very rarely wrong," Elsie rasped wearily.

Mary passed the bundle of towels and baby over to Margaret, who cooed, "Oh, there's a pretty girl – let's clean you up, lovey. You've got to be nice and clean to meet your mummy."

"Just a wee bit longer, lass," Mary said gently. "The afterbirth is coming now – and then we'll clean you up and make it all better."

"I'm so tired," Elsie whispered.

"Almost done," her mother praised. "You're doing so well, lass –"

Elsie floated through the next bit like she wasn't even in her body. She listened to the baby's soft noises, not really cries, but whimpers and grunts and soft sounds, and she cried silent tears for Ida and her wee'un yet again for the thousandth time.

And suddenly, a squirming bundle was laid on her chest and Elsie breathed in the smell of her brand new daughter. "She's a strong little girl," Margaret said softly.

"Ida," Elsie whispered. "Her name is Ida Margaret Mary Carson." She reached up and stroked the baby's fine dark hair. "Hello, little lass," she murmured. "I'm your mam."

The tiny baby cooed and snuggled up against her mother.

"There's my wee lass," Elsie whispered. "Oh, your da is goin' to love you so much. Yes, he is. But not nearly as much as your mam." She kissed the top of her daughter's head. "You're my wee lass – and you are very much wanted and loved."

* * *

A footman interrupted dinner to deliver a telegram to Robert. "Well, what is so important it cannot wait until we go our separate ways?" Lady Grantham nearly shouted.

Robert grinned and replied, "Mama, I am terribly sorry, but the message is for Carson and as such, I would be a dreadful employer if I shared his confidential message with you. Please excuse me." He got up and headed downstairs to find his valet. "Oh, Carson, there you are," he said cheerfully, finding him in the servants' hall, working on some mending that needed to be finished before he left for Scotland in the morning.

"M'lord –"

"Telegram from your dearest mum," Robert said. "Must admit she's smart enough to know my dear Mama reads all telegrams for downstairs and addressed it to me instead." He passed over the envelope with a smile.

Carson took the message and read it, tears in his eyes, a smile on his lips.

 _Baby girl. Elsie and Ida doing well. Come when you can manage. XOXO. Mum._

Robert's smile grew into a proud grin. "Many congratulations, my dear chap – now, please, go bring your wife and daughter home before you go mad."

Carson nodded and said, "M'lord, if you could… break the news gently while I'm away –"

"I will," Robert promised. He clapped his hand on Carson's shoulder a couple of times, then headed back to the dining room.

His mother's glare followed him. He held his hands up in surrender. "It is not my news to tell," Robert said firmly.

"I want to see that telegram," she hissed. "Call Carson up."

"Mama, you are a bully and a tyrant," Robert snapped. "Carson is leaving tomorrow."

"You still have no explanation on that part," she accused.

"I'm going with him," Robert added. "So please calm yourself."

"To Scotland. Again. Why?"

Robert gritted his teeth. Better an explosion now, when he could get someone to drive them into the village still if needbe than wait until morning when she would be even crankier. "To collect Carson's wife and daughter," he said bitterly. "Are you pleased with yourself now?"

She scoffed. "Carson isn't married."

His father rolled his eyes and said, "Violet, you might as well know the worst of it – Carson married that Hughes girl of Ida's. As county magistrate, I had to sign the papers."

Her jaw dropped, she spluttered. "Get that man up here NOW," she finally roared.

Rosamund flinched; Robert threw his hands up in the air. "Mama, you are overreacting –"

"I am doing nothing of the kind! Carson has entered into an illicit marriage with the woman who killed your wife –"

"She did nothing of the kind!" Robert yelped.

"- despite knowing that he would lose his position if it were ever to be found out. And now there is a child involved, and I would like to see an end to this business at once. You are not going to Scotland and Carson is being dismissed without reference."

Robert slammed his fist onto the table. "I _am_ going to Scotland. And Carson is _my_ valet. I say bully for him, having a wife who cares so much for him that she was willing to live so far away from him to preserve the peace if nothing else. I will not begrudge the man his happiness, and _**neither will you**_. Carson is not dismissed; Carson is _my_ valet and will remain so."

"This isn't over," his mother spat.

"Yes, it is," Robert said firmly. "And if I hear one word of gossip from your mouth about this in the village or in town or, to be frank, anywhere, or if you demean or degrade Mrs. Charles Carson again, I will not be pleased. And I will find a way to gag you, Mama."

Rosamund giggled from her seat. "Oh, Robert finally found his big boy braces and pulled his long trousers up," she commented.

"Rosamund, do shut up," his father sighed. "You are not helping."

"This isn't over," his mother repeated furiously. "Mrs. Carson will not be employed in any household of good standing in the county if I have anything at all to say about it – and how can you defend her when she stood there, covered in your wife's blood, and did nothing at all to save her?"

Robert snarled. "Mother," he said very pointedly, viciously, "Ida was going to die whether or not Mrs. Carson was there. She lost… she lost – she lost just as much as I did."

"Your wife; her lady: not entirely the same," she scoffed.

"Ida was her niece," Robert snapped. "And I invite you to kindly restrain yourself from commenting on my late wife's family." He got up and stormed out of the room, too angry to take back the secret he had just thrown out so casually in an argument. Mrs. Carson would kill him and use his guts for garters.

He wasn't scared of his mother anymore; but the cold, flinty steel in Mrs. Carson's eyes when she was displeased? He never wanted to be on the receiving end again.

Robert knew that none of this was going to blow over. In fact, his mother might go even further to undermine Mrs. Carson than to just bar her from the good houses of the county. So it was time to bargain with what little bit of soul he had left.

He would go to America and find a bride with money. And damn his mother to Hell, anyway.

* * *

Elsie was so tired; the baby was fussy unless she was being held by her mother, so she spent hours upon hours holding her precious bundle of joy. Every few hours, she nursed the little girl with huge blue eyes and dark, downy hair, and she longed for a break longer than a few minutes to use the chamber pot or to eat.

She stroked her daughter's hair as she nursed and murmured, "I wish your da could see you, my sweetest darling. You're going to love him very much – your mam does awfully much. And since you're so much like me, m'love, you will love your da something fierce. Aye, you will," she promised as the baby's eyes focused on her. "He's going to be so happy to see you. And we'll both be so happy to see him." She stifled a yawn and leaned back into her pillows, closing her eyes – just for a moment, she promised herself.

She stirred back to wakefulness when someone lifted Meggie off her chest, but she didn't get all the way to opening her eyes. She felt grateful for whomever had reprieved her… until the baby began to fuss. Elsie groaned and held out her hands again. "Give her here," she mumbled sleepily.

"No, I think we'll be just fine over here," Charles rumbled softly.

Her eyes snapped open and she inhaled sharply. "You're – you're here."

"I am," he agreed, gently resting Meggie on his shoulder and patting her back to soothe her. "I'm here, Elsie, love…"

"I'm sorry you weren't here," Elsie whispered, watching the two of them. "It happened so quickly – I couldn't – I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Charlie."

"What did I tell you about apologizing to me?" he asked softly. "There was nothing you could do to stall our girl from coming early. It's all right. We'll just have to make friends now, won't we, little miss?" He gently bounced Meggie, who burped loudly and then cooed. "Well, goodness – we'll have to work on your table manners, as well."

"Maybe table manners should wait until she can at least sit at table on her own," Elsie pointed out with a mischievous smile. She shifted slightly under the covers, wincing as the pain came back again – her mother assured her it was natural and it was only slightly worse than her normal monthly courses, but damn her body anyway. "Her name is Ida Margaret Mary," she said softly, "like we agreed."

He stroked Meggie's hair and smiled. "Our mothers must be so proud," he commented lightly.

"As peahens," Elsie agreed.

"She's beautiful, Elsie," he murmured. "Just like her mum."

"I don't feel beautiful right now," Elsie sighed. "I've not slept really since she was born, and all I do is nurse and try to use the chamberpot once in a while. I must look a right mess."

He came over and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "You are beautiful," he whispered.

"I missed you," she whimpered, unable to stop herself for crying – yet again. It felt like all she did was cry now. "I missed you so much, Charlie. I don't know how I'm going to be able to go back to normal when you go back to Yorkshire."

He paused. "Didn't mum tell you?"

"Tell me… what?"

"That she came to fetch you – to bring you home," he said softly.

Elsie bit her lip and mumbled, "Thought she was takin' the piss."

"No," Charles said softly. "You and our girl are coming home with me soon as you're ready."

"Oh, Charlie," she sighed, tears welling up again. "You don't know how happy that makes me – you've no idea."

"I might have some idea," he murmured. "I've a feeling it's going to be very difficult, indeed, to give up my girls again."

Elsie sniffled and reached over to gently stroke the baby's back. "See, Meggie, love? I told you that you'd love your da as much as I do," she whispered, leaning against her husband and closing her eyes. "He's such a darling man."


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry about the lengthy delay in this. Work has been off the charts and it makes it difficult to (verb) + (noun) = language (x-infinity)

* * *

IX:

"He cannae just… show up uninvited."

Charles sat down on the edge of the bed, Meggie in his arms, and sighed. "I don't know the particulars," he hedged. Truth be told, he didn't know what his employer had done, nor did he care – he was only very grateful to be with his wife again.

"The connection is tenuous at best, now they're all but denying that Ida was even a part of the family," Elsie muttered in disgust. "Lady Grantham is a curiously unfeeling woman."

"Unfeeling is a… very bad way of describing her," Charles said. "As it happens, she has incredibly passionate feelings in regard as to many things."

"Such as?" Elsie shot back.

"Well, let's just say that she is incredibly… passionate… as regards my having a wife and child." Passionate wasn't the word: the woman was bloodthirsty. He knew it might come down to choosing between Lord Robert and the continual abuse heaped upon him by Lady Grantham, and he would choose Elsie and Meggie without hesitation, come what may. He looked down at his sleeping daughter and smiled. She was sound asleep, her small fist pressed against her cheek, her small mouth moving as she drooled and swallowed. If someone had told him even two years ago that he would have met the love of his life, let alone married her and had a child of his own, he would have laughed! But the world works in mysterious ways, and so he had crossed paths with his own fierce Celtic bride.

"Of course she is," Elsie scoffed softly. "She knows bugger all about life – or love. She does everything out of duty, even the scheming and plotting and misery-making. My parents are the same way; everything is duty or the appearance of propriety and…" Her voice trailed off and she sighed. "I dinnae want that for us, Charlie."

"That isn't how we are," he said firmly. "And if it ever is, I will leave our home and relieve you of the pain of having to live with a man who does not care for you as he should."

She reached over and touched his arm. "Charlie, don't say such things," she whispered. "I didn't mean –"

"I know," he said. "We're just beginning this journey together, aren't we? I'm sure we'll hit rough travel at points, but we are neither of us like our parents." Charles paused, thinking of the constant bickering and angry squabbles of his mother and father, the drinking and his father's gambling and whoring… And of how he could ill imagine ever behaving in such a fashion. Did that make him a better man than his father? No, only happier from the start. For one thing, Elsie completed him in a way that seemed indecent, but was just a reminder of how lonely he had really been.

And now they had a child that was theirs, an outward symbol of their affection and love, and he had never in his life been prouder than the moment his daughter had been in his arms… well, no, that was a lie. The proudest moment of his life had been when Elsie had agreed to be his wife. Was it possible to be equally proud of those moments?

He glanced up at Elsie; she was biting her lower lip in that nervous fashion of hers. "Elsie, love… whatever is the matter?"

She inhaled sharply and said, "Nothing – it's nothing."

"What did I say?"

"It's not you, Charles," she murmured. "It's me. You're so good with Meggie and I'm a mess – I cannae even get out of bed without help."

"Because you had a baby two days ago," he reminded her gently. "Nothing is going to be the same after that – your body has been through a tremendous shock."

"Oh, goodness, Charlie, you don't have to tell me twice," she confessed. "I don't know how women do it over and over again, baby after baby. I was bloody terrified the whole time because I… I've seen too many women die giving birth. It could have been me and – and – I wasn't ready." She was crying then, tears running down her cheeks and he found himself unable to offer her any kind of comfort trapped as he was with the baby in his arms.

"Elsie, love, you're not going to die," was the best he could do.

She swiped angrily at her tears, then mumbled, "I told you my father came to visit me."

"And you threw him off the farm, yes," he said softly.

"I might have done something stupid," she said. "And told him he couldn't make our son his heir."

He blinked, a little surprised, but not entirely shocked. "Well, seeing as how we don't have a son, I don't see how that makes you stupid."

"I thought he meant to take him," she whispered. "That he would just take my little lad and I'd never… I'd never see my boy again. And now he'll go to our Becky and ask her for Tom, the biggest of her five boys, and… and Charlie, how could I have been so stupid?"

"You aren't stupid," he assured her. "And it's a moot point entirely, since we did not have a son."

"The next one might be," she said, looking at him with trepidation. "And there will be a next baby because we cannae keep our hands… or other bits… to ourselves." Her voice was shaking, but whether with emotion or fear, he couldn't tell. It worried him that she was getting so anxious over things that might never come to pass.

"Then we have a son," he said, "who will be no less loved than his sister."

"He's not even a glimmer of hope in our eyes and I've already destroyed his future," she whispered. "My father is not a patient man."

"Your father is an idiot," Charles said firmly. "Obviously, since he's loved your mother all this time and never once done anything about it."

"He proposed marriage and she declined his offer," Elsie said bluntly. "And he proposed making his bastard's son his heir and I turned him down. How many rejections will he take before he writes us off completely? He… he is my father, no matter how I feel about the morality of the situation, and he has never taken pains to hide that he is my father. I've been an object of ridicule and scorn and gossip since I was a girl. I am his bastard and I cannot inherit. But my son could, because he has claimed me as his and I am the eldest and… the law isn't meant to be fair, is it?"

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "And we should make amends with your father before we go south."

"Do you agree with him?" she asked.

"I think… that we should afford our children whatever opportunities we can," Charles said. "But it isn't my decision – it is yours. And I cannot, in good conscience, tell you what you should do. I respect and love you too much for that. I knew your circumstances before we married, and I knew it might be a possibility that he would come to you if we were to have children. It is your choice, Elsie, but I would give our lad a chance to live a better life if I could."

"Where is Lord Robert staying?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. "At the pub?"

"No," Charles said. "At the Castle, with your father." He took a deep breath when she stiffened, then added, "After all, he was Ida's husband, and, as such, is his grandson-in-law."

"My mam goes as a guest and ends up serving tea," Elsie muttered. "I… I cannot –"

He shifted the baby and budged up on the bed until he could wrap his empty arm around her. "Elsie, I don't care," Charles said firmly. "I don't care. You are my wife; that is what I care about. My wife and my daughter. Sod the rest of it. You don't need to be worrying about any of this right now: you're working yourself up into a right state over nothing."

"It shouldn't hurt so much still, being unwanted and unloved," she mumbled.

"By Lord Allenby? He cares about you," he said softly, gently. "He just doesn't know how to show it." He paused, holding her tighter. "Half the time, I don't feel like I show you that I love you and it upsets me that we aren't more open with one another."

"You show me every day in the wee things," Elsie whispered. "Holding me, loving on our lass even though she's not a lad, helping sew me stockings…" She looked up at him with eyes that were swimming with tears. "I fell in love with you the night we were just sitting in the servant's hall, mending clothes, and you offered to help me with the discolored lace on Ida's fichu."

"You'd been at Downton for a week –"

"And I knew already I'd never feel the same about anyone else."

"I knew the moment we were introduced," he admitted quietly. "And I knew I should hide it and fight it because we would be working together – hopefully – for a very long time. But I couldn't. And now… now we are man and wife. And, I am terribly afraid that you've made me fall deeper in love with you than I ever intended to be."

"I'm fairly certain no one ever intends to fall in love," Elsie murmured, reaching over and stroking their daughter's cheek. "But that doesn't stop it from happening."

* * *

"Charles, will you come out to the barn with me and help inspect the horses?" Mary asked over a cup of tea. "I understand your father was a groom; maybe you've gleaned some of his talents latently?"

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Chance would be a fine thing," she muttered. "I'll keep on with the baby, then, while you two go… do whatever you don't want to tell me."

Charles sighed; his mother was in a mood. She was just like him in that once a plan was set, she did not like deviations. Spontaneity was not in her nature: an unfortunate side effect of marriage to his father, who hadn't a punctual planner's bone in his body. "Mum, it will only be a few minutes," he said gently. "And besides, Elsie wanted your help with her hair, since she's still confined to her bed."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "Well, be quick about it," she muttered, taking Meggie from him. It didn't take much thought to know that neither Mary nor his mother were keen on him paying so much attention to the baby. They'd been dropping not-so-subtle hints about parenting being a woman's work for several days, but he was keen to help in every way he could – even being up to his elbows in excrement and shrieking lass who only wanted a clean bottom. There was no point in Elsie exhausting herself in future when he could do everything but feed Meggie, and the wee lass was very keen on him anyway.

The breeze from the north was chilly, whipping around the buildings as he followed Mary to the barn. Once inside, the door shut behind them, she turned and said, "Before you return to England, I need to know that you intend no harm whatsoever to befall our Elsie. I need to know she's not made the same mistake I have in giving up everything for love."

He reeled back, stunned by her brutal blunt force in addressing him. "Miss Campbell, I assure you –"

"No," she said firmly. "Your assurances mean shite. Any man can make a promise and not see it through. She married you because she thinks you are different, but… she doesn't know the world, does she? I've tried so hard to protect my children from the worst of it all, but she knows things I'd never want her to."

"I only drink a small glass in the evening, rarely," Charles said, "and I do not smoke at all. I do not gamble, nor do I visit… nightbirds. My intention is to keep Elsie happy and healthy, and to provide well for our family."

Mary's face was twisted with emotions far too numerous for him to try to unpick and name. "I was a scullery maid at the Castle," she said very quietly, finally. "I were maybe fifteen when Bruce took a shine to me. It were innocent at first; hiding from his da and mam and the tutor… and he taught me his lessons after. He told me he loved me and he wanted to marry me. We made a handfasting in secret and…" She paused and shook her head. "I was sent away to my aunt in the Hebrides when they found out I was with child, and he was sent away to school. Our Maeve was born very early – she fit in the palm of me hand and only breathed for a few minutes. He doesn't know about her; he can never know about her." She licked her lips and exhaled a small sob. "When he came back, I was helping me Gran with the midwifery. And he reminded me we were all but married – only we didnae have the Church's blessing, and we both wanted it. His father forced him to marry but we carried on as man and wife anyway. He loves his children; all of them. Elsie might think that he's not done so, but he's given her and our Becky everything he could. Becky has turned her back on all of us, on the shame of us, and who could blame her? She is a respectable wife of a respectable man. As is our Elsie. Just please… promise me you will not make her regret her choice, Charles. Please."

"I cannot hurt Elsie without hurting myself," Charles said. "We are… we are that close."

"I thought Bruce and I were that close, once," Mary murmured wistfully. "He has asked me again to marry him. And he will legally claim Elsie and Becky as his children, and name one of their boys his heir. I love him, but there is… so much in the way. I cannot be so selfish as to merely think of myself in this, as I have for so long. Elsie cannot stand him, and Becky has written us all off. I don't know what to do."

Charles thought for a moment, then said, "Be selfish. You've both lived through so much on opposite sides of the pitch; be selfish and meet in the middle. I'll speak to Elsie. She won't be over the moon, but… I can try to make her see sense."

"I don't know what to do," Mary admitted.

"You'll have to decide sooner or later," he advised sagely. "And Elsie and I will support you, whatever you choose."

Mary laughed bitterly. "You say that now… But I'm dying and being selfish and taking my own pleasure isnae going to do our Elsie any good, is it?" Her smile was tight and feral when she flashed it at him. "Cancer, you see. Neither of them know. How can I destroy them both? How can I be that selfish, Charles?"

"You have to tell them –"

"No, and neither will you," she snapped. "I can either have one or the other – my daughter and her family… or the man I have committed my life to but can never really have. So you tell me – which should I choose, Charles Carson? You tell me which is more important."

"I cannot," he said very quietly.

"I could die tomorrow," she whispered. "The doctors only gave me months to live. I've been going for two years now. Any day now, I won't wake up. So tell me, please, which is more important: to die as Lady Allenby, to break his heart yet again with tragedy… or to die a loving mam and Gran, holding onto what's left of this world that is mine?"

"It sounds like you've made your choice."

"Does it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Don't you dare tell her anything I've said. Don't even presume to dare."

"It isn't my story to tell," Charles said softly. "But you should tell her that you're ill –"

"I've been the cause of so much misery in her life," Mary said. "I'll not make more for her now. Not when she's so happy." She opened the barn door and stepped back outside. "Just… love her for me, when I'm gone, Charles."

His heart was heavy as he wandered around the farm for the next few hours, thinking. He was conflicted, but eventually erred on the side of it not really being any of his business. Elsie and Meggie were waiting for him when he came back, his wife and tiny daughter, and he must never forget that, come what may. They were his responsibility and he had a duty of care toward them that must never be allowed to falter.

He straightened his shoulders and repressed any sign that he'd been subject to anything that wasn't exactly on the up and up. This was his new life: assimilating information, repressing his reactions, being the best man he could be without revealing anything damaging to anyone.

Absolute discretion.

* * *

Elsie swept the floor, humming a little as she did. The cottage was small but comfortable, and they'd settled in with Margaret very quickly and easily. Elsie did menial chores and labor, and cared for Meggie, while Margaret did the bulk of the work. Lord Robert had moved back into Crawley House, and Charles was within a stone's throw of them at any time – and he was allowed to wander back and forth at will.

It had been several weeks since she'd heard from her mother. Jimmy wrote once a week about the farm, how he was rotating the crops and how many sheep and cattle were either sold or slaughtered, how much wool was sent to the mill, etc., but her mother hadn't uttered two words.

It was unusual to see Charles in the middle of the day, so Elsie startled a bit when the door opened and he was there, a telegram in hand. "Elsie, Lord Allenby sent word…"

Elsie blinked.

"Your mother died this morning at the Castle," he said very softly. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry."

She took a deep breath, then went back to sweeping. She couldn't see clearly through her tears, couldn't breathe, couldn't cry out, just kept sweeping angrily until the pile of dust and dirt was under her submission. And then she pushed past him to the door, casting the mess out onto the front stoop. "Of course she was with him when she died," Elsie said bitterly.

"Elsie, that isn't fair –"

"What do you know about it?" she shot back. "What do you bloody well know about any of it?" The sob caught her by surprise, cracking her armor. Charles swooped in and pulled her close. "She always loved him more than any of us –" She was vulnerable as a child in that moment; she could not allow herself to give up control and submit voluntarily to him.

"That isn't so," Charles said softly. "It isn't, Elsie, love, and you know it." He kissed the top of her head and sighed as she wept into his lapel.

"Where's mum?" he asked when her cries finally ceased to be anything but choking whimpers. "I don't want to leave you and Meggie alone –"

"She's gone into Ripon for the shops and won't be back till tea," Elsie mumbled. "You need to… you need to get back to Crawley House. You shouldn't be worrying about me."

"Elsie, love, of course I should be worrying about you," he sighed, the words a soft, soothing rumble. "Lord Robert sent me as soon as I told him what had happened – I don't want to leave you alone for a moment."

"Then don't," she whispered. They'd not made love since Meggie was born; he was too courteous to force himself on her and she still felt retched – her body wasn't firm like it had been before, and she found fault in every mark and silvery stretch of her skin. How could he possibly stand to look at her if she couldn't even recognize herself in the mirror? And he hadn't pushed the issue, demanding his husbandly rights.

But now she was upset and vulnerable, and she wanted him – but was it enough? Was she enough?

"Elsie?"

"Meggie's asleep," she murmured. "Your mum isn't here. Lord Robert isn't expecting you back soon. My mother is dead. I need… I need you to – to show me you still love me, Charlie."

"I love you," he protested.

"You don't even kiss me," she threw back at him.

"Because I would lose control and take you like an animal," he grunted. "It's been a very long while since we've –"

"Then do it!" she yelped. "Just – just do it. Lose control. Touch me. Kiss me. Something, please," she begged. "I'm tired of feeling like you care more for Meggie than you do for me – and I love you, you big stinking brute."

He raised an eyebrow. "Brute?"

"Oh, it's a bloody figure of speech," she muttered. She was about to sass some more when he tipped her jaw up and kissed her hard. She acquiesced, opening her lips and letting him possess her again. Kisses were all well and good, but they both had more in mind; he slid his hand down her bodice, cupping her breast beneath her corset, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he took a few trembling steps toward the staircase.

They didn't make it very far; in fact, he set her down on the steps and it was off to the races. They spurred one another on until he was balls deep and pumping violently inside her. She was gasping and kissing him with as much force as he was kissing her, neither one willing to concede dominance in the dance. He shifted his hips, and her body arced off the stairs like she'd been struck by lightning; his thrusts grew harder, more forceful, striking that place over and over again, her voice rising in pitch and timber until with a final high, almost inaudible-in-pitch squeal, she clenched hard around him, dragging him down into the abyss of primal pleasure with her.

As soon as he realized what he'd done, as soon as he'd come back to himself, Charles pulled away. "Oh god, Elsie, love –"

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and stormy with the remnants of their passion. "Don't you dare apologize," Elsie murmured. They were both still fully clothed, only bits of their attire pushed aside to allow access – if anyone had tried to shame them, she would point out that they were married and were thus entitled to do as they damn well pleased. "Come up and hold me," she whispered. "Please, Charlie."

"I can't," he said.

"Charlie, look at me," Elsie whispered. "Look at me – CHARLIE." His name was said as forcefully as she could muster without raising her voice and shouting. "I am not a fragile flower," she uttered lowly, slowly, with force. "I've borne you a child and it was the hardest thing I've done in my life. You didn't hurt me, love. I promise. You didn't hurt me and I'm really quite flattered you couldn't even get your pants all the way down before you were inside me." His cheeks flushed at her frank comment, and she reached up to ruffle his hair. "Now come upstairs and hold me a bit. And come home tonight."

It took very little work to become 'respectable' again, just pushing skirts down and pulling pants up. His hair was a mess, but that could be fixed, and she had an angry purple mark on her neck, which could not be tidied or covered easily. But they headed back up the stairs, hand in hand, and collapsed into their bed, a tangle of respectable limbs and clothes, holding on to one another for dear life.

Meggie was sleeping in her crib, they were together, and all was right with the world for just a moment before reality could creep in again.

"We leave for America in three weeks," Charles said very softly.

There it was; that intrusion of reality she wanted to keep away. "Then we have three weeks to remain as close as god and man will allow," Elsie whispered. "I'll not make the same mistake as my mother and push you away."

He wanted to say something, but instead he hesitated and stopped himself. "I love you, dearest," he whispered instead, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and pulling her flush against him. "And my time away from you will be agonizing."

She relaxed into his arms and felt herself drifting to sleep; something that had not happened in a very long time. She let herself float away into a land of dreams where everything was Paradise and nothing bad could touch them.


	10. Chapter 10

X:

* * *

 _My dearest Charles;_

 _I know this letter will take quite some time to reach you, but I'm afraid it cannot be helped. Meggie, your mother, and I are all doing very well. Meggie has her first tooth and sits up on her own now. I know she misses you, as do I._

 _Lady Grantham has been civil, if not kind, though we do not live in anticipation of such a thing. She personally brings your wages to me each month, and I have done with them what we have discussed previously._

 _I hope everything is going well with Lord Robert's journey. He deserves what happiness he can achieve, even if his main aim is to be money to keep Downton solvent. You have written such wonderful things of New York and Newport, and I find myself jealous of your ability to see such lovely places. I am afraid that I cannot even journey to London – your mother is quite protective of me, and rightfully so, for you are to have a new son or daughter near Easter._

 _Personally, I am hoping for a wee lad to spoil. But I am knitting a new blanket and booties regardless. I wish I could tell you face to face this wonderful news, but, alas, you are halfway around the world._

 _Please do not think too many American girls lovely, or I shall be very put out, dear heart. I miss you, as always, and am ever_

 _Your devoted wife,  
Elsie_

* * *

Charles couldn't stop smiling as he assisted Lord Robert with his jacket. "Am I to assume the letter earlier that you received was from Mrs. Carson?" Robert asked with a smirk.

"Yes, m'lord."

"And what news, Carson?"

"Meggie is sitting up by herself and has a tooth now," Charles said. "And we are to expect another Carson lad or lass around Eastertide."

A dark shadow passed over Robert's face, only to be replaced with a bright smile and enthusiasm. "I say, old chap, good on you and the missus! A son would be a fine thing this time, though, wouldn't it?"

Charles's smile was now less easy. "I should merely be happy to get home and hold my daughter," he admitted. "I miss them both dreadfully."

"Well, I think it will be a boon to you, then, that I intend to pursue Miss Levinson most ardently," Robert said, fastening his cuff links. "Her father is flush with cash, which is the main thing, but she and I speak with great similarity and she is quite pretty in her own way. I could be content with such a match." His bravado was false, and Charles could see it beginning to crack around the edges. He knew that Robert felt that, in truth, he was betraying Ida, but he could see no alternative but to play along with his parents' wishes.

"You said much the same about Lady Ida," Charles reminded him. "I would not wish to overstep –"

"Carson, we are family," Robert said. "If you cannot speak frankly to me, who can?"

Charles cleared his throat. "Lady Ida would not wish to see you miserable in a marriage of convenience. If you must marry for money, m'lord, you should at least be able to more than slightly live with your chosen partner. You will have to perform marital duties –"

"Yes, I know," Robert sighed. "Though I fear I shall always see Ida in place of my second wife. God, how morbid is that? I am such a fool –"

"No," Charles said. "If I lost Elsie, I would go to pieces and never recover. I pray every day for her health and welfare because I cannot live in a world without her in it."

"I feel as though I keep you apart more than I have championed you together," Robert admitted, "and for that I am truly sorry. Your daughter deserves to see you more often than she has, and your wife deserves you being there with her rather than here with me. I am sorry," he apologized yet again.

"My duty lies with you," Charles said. "My heart lies with them. I would feel much easier if we were still within walking distance of one another, but it cannot be. Thus, I am content to remain where I am needed most for the time being." He cleared his throat. "Miss Levinson's favorite flower is a yellow rose with peach tips called a 'peace rose'. Her favorite food is smoked salmon with hollandaise and caviar. Her favorite diversion is the opera." He paused. "So surprise her with daisies. Offer her something simple and refined to eat. Take her to a museum. Broaden her horizons and show her that you can be a wealth of hope even if it is a marriage of convenience for you both. And treat her as though she is to be your world – because she will be."

"Lord, Carson, I am too old for this nonsense already," Robert scoffed. "I'm a widower and I'm not even twenty-five. How am I to woo anyone?"

"You are the heir of the Earl of Grantham," Charles said simply. "To most, that is enough."

Robert exhaled and muttered, "How did you woo Mrs. Carson, then? And under all our noses?"

"Simple kindness," Charles admitted. "I showed her kindness and we became friends. And then much more." He didn't even feel shame in telling it. "And a housekeeper and butler who slept very soundly. Because I might have spent more nights in Elsie's room than my own."

"Might have?" Robert said with quietly frank admiration. Charles had to admit that he had been rather foolhardy and rash in being with Elsie before marriage, but the risk had paid off in spades.

"I won't directly incriminate myself," Charles said, dusting off Robert's shoulders with a fine brush. "I will see you later this evening, m'lord."

* * *

Cora Levinson was the kind of delicate beauty his mother preferred, thin and lithe, dark haired and blue eyed with a wide, easy smile and a carefree attitude. Her mother was brash and didn't give two shits to rub a farthing in, and her father tolerated her mother's antics with the overly indulgent way of men who were led around by the balls.

Robert downed a snifter of brandy immediately, then gladly took a flute of champagne as the waiters moved around the room. It was a small gathering, but he already felt out of place: an English gentleman awash in the waters of American society.

The young woman crossed the room quickly and took his arm. "Lord Robert, I am quite glad to see you this evening – Mama was afraid you wouldn't come, and she has been so looking forward to it." Her voice was low and conspiratorial. "And Papa thinks you will make a good addition to the family, and pronounces it casually to anyone who will listen. It's rather like being Elizabeth Bennett, and I do wish I had a Jane to lean on while I search for Mr. Darcy."

Robert cracked a smile. She was rather endearing; he felt a pang of intense guilt deep in his gut that wiped the smile clean away. "Well, I do not proclaim to be as stern as Mr. Darcy, but I've not the evil idle ways of Wyckham."

"And you do not ardently love me," Cora said with that cheerful smile of hers.

"Miss Levinson… may I be frank?"

"Of course, Lord Robert. We are on good enough terms for honesty."

"I am in love with my late wife. I cannot… I do not feel affection the same way anymore," Robert said gruffly. "I do not think I will ever feel the same way again."

Her smile wavered, faltered, then came back. "My dear," she said softly, "no one expects you to just… get over her. Least of all myself. But there are expectations: estate, fortune, heirs. I bring the money and you bring the estate, and I will do my best to provide you with heirs. Love… is not a consideration."

"I should not like to feel you pressured into a loveless marriage –"

"My mother wants your title. My father wants your prestige. I want to be as far away from their scheming as possible," Cora confessed. "You are handsome, charming, clever, and you are rather witty when you've a mind. We have gotten along well so far, and I've no doubts that this will continue if we are to be married." She turned the full force of that smile on him and added, "Besides, it saves me the trouble of turning down one of the Astors again. They're such awful snobs, and one of them had the gall to pat my backside in public."

Robert cleared his throat and mumbled, "Very unseemly, that."

"I should think you'd not treat me such," Cora said with a mischievous smirk, as if she were daring him to do just that.

"Not in public," Robert said. "But such a bottom as yours should be… adored."

She blushed. "Lord Robert, if you are going to say such things, the least you can do is propose."

He mumbled, "You deserve better than me."

She inclined her head and murmured, "Maybe so, but I know my own mind. Ask me and I will answer truthfully and without guile."

"Will you marry me, then?" he inquired as casually as if he were asking if she wanted another cup of wine.

"On one condition," Cora said, making him look at her with some trepidation.

"Which is?"

"No matter how cross we are with one another, we will share a bed," Cora said very quietly. "I do not like the idea of sharing every other aspect of our lives and then separating to sleep. It is… degrading to think that I would merely be your brood mare."

"I will agree to that condition, and any others within reason," Robert said softly. "I will speak to your father and then I will ask you in front of your parents and we will be in agreement?"

"I am already agreed, Robert," Cora murmured. "And I cannot wait to see my new home."

"I'm afraid that I live in a small house in the village," Robert said, "with very few servants and no sense of grandeur. It will be that way until I inherit the estate upon my father's death."

"Then I will be right at home," Cora said cheerfully. "Of course, my maid is to be married soon and I'm not certain I should hire someone here and force them to go to England…"

"My mother and sister can begin looking at candidates," Robert promised. "I think we will make a fine start of it, Cora. Together, yes?"

She lifted her chin and smiled. "Together," she agreed.

* * *

Elsie jiggled Meggie onto her hip, kissing the baby's cheek. "There's mam's good lass," she murmured. "Daddy will be home very soon – he's on the next train, love. He'll be so happy to see you." She glanced down the platform, seeing Lord and Lady Grantham and Lady Rosamund all in wait, as well. Once in a while, Lady Grantham would shoot a dirty look Elsie's way, then look away.

Elsie knew she was meant to shut herself away now that she was showing, but she couldn't be bothered with it. She delivered her embroidered goods the day she finished each piece, collected her money, and went to the shops or the post office. She went to church on Sunday. She had friends and neighbors who were glad to see her about despite her husband's absence. Lady Grantham could suck on a lemon.

The train pulled to a stop, and Elsie smiled. "Meggie, love, look – there's daddy," she murmured to the baby, pointing to the window where Charles was seated in third class. "There's daddy." Charles smiled out the window and waved eagerly, and Meggie squeaked, still chewing on her fingers. She was up to standing and taking her first wobbly steps on her own, so of course she wanted to get down, but Elsie held her closer. "Ah, ah, little lass," Elsie scolded gently. "Not yet, love. Stop kicking me."

Charles was nearly the first one off of the train, flying down the steps at a breakneck pace, not even waiting for the platform to clear before he was enveloping them in his embrace. "God, Elsie, I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life," he whispered, kissing her over and over again – chastely because they were in public – and it was all she could do to smile and kiss him back.

Meggie took her fingers out of her mouth and yelped, "DA!"

"Why hello, my darling girl," Charles said. "You've gotten so big!"

Meggie giggled and nearly took a dive to the ground as she all but launched herself into his arms. "Da!" she announced excitedly. She grinned at Elsie, then said, "MA! DA!"

"Aye, me love," Elsie praised, "that's your daddy. That's daddy and he's home now."

Meggie curled up against his shoulder, snuggling in. Elsie had told her every day all about her daddy and how much he loved them, using a photograph of Charles from their wedding day to show him to her so she wouldn't be afraid of him when he came home. But there was something else, something far more primal, that the baby was responding to. Elsie inhaled deeply and her body responded quickly to his scent – the smell of his cologne, of his soap, of him – lulling her into a tender feeling of security that had been lacking for so long.

"Elsie, that's her," he was saying, gesturing furtively down the platform. "Miss Cora Levinson."

"I don't care about Miss Cora Levinson," Elsie said firmly, pulling his attention back to her. "I've missed you horribly, Charlie," she whispered, giving him a kiss that was bordering on indecent. "Please come home tonight," she murmured.

"I will," he promised.

"You will what?" Lord Robert asked as he joined them. "Mrs. Carson, you are looking very well indeed – and is that your lovely daughter? My goodness, she has grown!"

"Bob!" Meggie pronounced excitedly, waving at him.

"Hello, Meggie, dear," Robert said with a smile. "Now, don't tell me you've been teaching her –"

"She'll learn better respect when she's older," Elsie promised. "But I had to explain to her that her da works for Uncle Bob and that's why he wasn't here."

Robert's smile grew. "Thank you for asking me to be one of her godparents," he said. "I will never cease to enjoy her enthusiasm."

"Bob!" Meggie said, waving shyly, which earned her a kiss from her daddy.

"Would you like to meet my fiancé?" Robert inquired. "She knows… most everything, Aunt Elsie."

Elsie inhaled sharply, then said, "When you marry her, I won't be Aunt Elsie any longer, Lord Robert, if ever I really was."

"Yes, you will," he said. "To me if no one else. Cora is a lovely young woman and I think you will warm to her if you give her a chance."

"Do you care for her like Ida?" Elsie asked.

"No, but I do care for her."

Elsie hesitated, then nodded. "Yes… I will meet her."

Robert walked back down the platform to the knot of people and came back with a dark haired young woman whose traveling gown was finer than any Elsie had ever seen, and she'd dressed Ida in the finest clothes for years! "You must be Mrs. Carson," the woman said with an enormous, sunny smile. "I've heard so much about you from Robert – I feel as if I already know you."

Elsie felt very awkward about shaking Miss Levinson's hand; her hands were coarse from needle pricks and heavy work, and the young woman's hands were clad in delicate kid leather gloves. But she did it anyway. "It's a pleasure to meet you, miss," she said softly, not wanting to be impolite, but feeling completely ill at ease with the situation.

"You must call me Cora if I may call you Elsie – we shall be great friends, I hope," Cora said brightly. "Carson tells me that you are a very accomplished embroiderist – perhaps you could teach me some of your techniques."

"Ma!" Meggie cried, then was back in Elsie's arms, all smiles and baby chatter. Elsie kissed her daughter's cheek, then regarded Cora through an unbiased filter.

There was nothing wrong with her; she was amiable, overly polite, and enthusiastic. There was nothing wrong with her; but that she was not Ida. "I should like that, Miss Levinson," Elsie said softly.

"May I speak with you for a moment?" Cora inquired. "It's a matter of some delicacy and I shouldn't like prying ears."

"Of course, miss," Elsie said, stepping away from the men with Cora.

"Let us be plain with each other, Mrs. Carson – I know your familial relationship to Robert and Ida. And I am aware that you will dislike me simply for not being your niece. And I am so very sorry for your loss; she sounds as if she was a wonderful woman and I would have liked to have met her." Cora hesitantly bit her lip. "I have traveled to England without a maid… because Robert said his mother and sister have been searching for one for me. Robert told me last night that you were Lady Ida's maid for many years. I… I would like to formally offer you a job as my maid, as Mr. Carson is to Robert." She inhaled deeply, then said in a rush, "I can understand if you would not – especially in your delicate condition – but I would be very honored if you would even consider my offer and –"

"I will," Elsie said softly. "On the condition that someone will replace me when it's time for my confinement."

"Of course," Cora said. "I wouldn't dream of asking you to give up time with your children just for my sake – they're small and need you far more than I do. I can do my own buckles and bows and my own hair if I need to." She smiled. "I do want us to be friends, if we cannot be family, Mrs. Carson."

Elsie nodded and murmured, "Thank you, miss."

"I told you to call me Cora," she replied with a smile. "Friends, remember?"

"When will I begin?" Elsie asked.

"Well, the wedding is in three weeks," Cora said, "and until then, we are all staying at the Abbey as guests of Lord and Lady Grantham – and Robert and I are not planning on a honeymoon tour, just moving into Crawley House."

"You should take a honeymoon trip, even if it is just a few days," Elsie murmured. "To be comfortable together and –"

Cora's smile faltered and Elsie felt a small amount of pity for her. "Eventually," she said, "we'll go on a trip, but not right away." She wrung her hands for a moment, then bit her lip. "Mr. Carson will be staying at the Abbey, and I'm certain you will be –"

"I am not welcome at the Abbey," Elsie said softly. "Her Ladyship does not care for me."

"You're my maid now, and she cannot dissuade me from bringing my maid," Cora said brightly. "Can you be there by two? I'll arrange your sleeping arrangements with Mr. Carson and whomever else I need to speak with so you may be together. I wouldn't want to keep you separated any longer than necessary –"

"You're very kind, Cora, but…" Elsie smiled sadly. "It's just not done."

"I don't care," Cora declared. "It will be done from now on. And the moment I am the Countess of Grantham, you and Mr. Carson will have your own cottage to raise your children in properly." She smiled at Meggie. "Is there anyone to care for her while you're working?"

Elsie nodded, then swallowed hard. Cora was more like Ida than she'd realized; practical and kind, with a cheerful demeanor and a genuine compassion for those around her… it was no wonder Robert had chosen her over the others. "I should… I should go home and ready my bag, then," Elsie murmured. "My black dresses all need let out – I did some housemaid work until I began to show, and then it's been embroidery and laundry since."

Cora smiled. "Are you excited about the baby coming?"

Elsie murmured, "A bit, but not too much. I was too worried about my Charlie in America."

"Cora, dear?" Robert interrupted gently. "We're leaving for the Abbey. Carson, please be at the Abbey by two and no later – you won't get your full half day today, but I will see to it that you'll get a full day next week."

"Robert, Mrs. Carson has graciously decided to be my lady's maid," Cora said. "Can we persuade your housekeeper to give the Carsons joint accommodation so they don't have to run away on a half day together?" Her voice was high pitched and teasing, but very direct and cautious.

"My dear, anything you wish that is within the realm of reason, I will grant," Robert said with a small smile. "And I will argue with my parents over the repercussions."

Cora smiled and gestured at the small family. "Go home and enjoy," she instructed sweetly. "We'll see you this evening."

Charles led Elsie off the platform and smiled. "Admit it: you like her," he said.

"Mebbe," Elsie said. "Just a wee bit."


	11. Chapter 11

XI:

"Gam! Gam!" Meggie yelped as soon as they got into the cottage. As if by magic, Margaret appeared with a smile and the baby was in her arms, happy as a clam.

"And there's our lad," Margaret said, smiling and waiting for Charles to bend down so she could give him a kiss on the cheek. "I hope the travel wasn't bad once you were on dry land."

"The crossing was rough," Charles said with a sigh. "But Master Robert did choose to travel in February, didn't he?" He rolled his eyes a bit, then smirked, obviously realizing how difficult it was going to be to pretend to be unaffected by his homecoming. "But once we were in Southampton and beyond, everything was well."

"English efficiency for you," Margaret said cheerfully. "There's fresh tea in the pot and some fresh bread and butter if you'd like – or I can watch our girl and you and Elsie can have some time alone before you head to the big house."

"Mum, we'll both be going to the Abbey this afternoon – Elsie has taken employment with Miss Cora Levinson, who is to be wed to Lord Robert," Charles said hesitantly. "Would you be able to care for –"

"Of course I shall mind Meggie!" Margaret exclaimed. "You shouldn't worry about a thing, lad – but how will her ladyship react to Elsie being back in the house and as, I assume, a lady's maid, in her condition?"

"I could give sod all," Elsie said. "It would serve the cow right if I shoved her nose in it."

"But you won't because that isn't who you are," Charles said gently.

Elsie huffed a little and muttered, "Would serve her right if that was who I became."

He chuckled and said, "Are you hungry, love?"

"Could slaughter a piece of toast," she said. "I've got to go out to the toilet. Don't wait for me – if you're hungry or want to play with our Meggie, just go ahead." She didn't want to admit that it took her a damn sight longer than she cared for to use the outside loo and she might actually be looking forward to using the state of the art water closets at the Abbey.

She also was reluctant to let Charles see her struggling. She was seven months gone already and hadn't been able to see her feet for about three months already; taking a shit was awkward and oftentimes painful and she didn't want him to see her flailing about while attempting to get back onto her feet. It was humiliating enough as it was.

Almost thirty minutes later, she left the outbuilding and almost ran straight into him. "Thought you might have fallen in," he said in that gently rumbling way of his.

"No, but it weren't for lack of trying," she quipped wryly. "I couldn't get up again. Your wee'un is enormous, Mr. Carson."

"That just means he or she is healthy and well," he countered gently. "Let me help you, Elsie – it's what I'm meant to do as your husband, isn't it?"

She sighed. "I make do," Elsie murmured. "You've got more important things to worry about than me."

"That is a load of rubbish," he scoffed. "There is nothing in this world more important than you and our children, Elsie."

"Why are you so sweet to me?" she sighed, leaning into his embrace and tucking her face into his chest.

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked. "I love you – adore you, in fact."

She frowned, then mumbled, "You should hear the things said round the village about us. They're not so sweet."

She could hear his scowl. "Elsie, I need you to ignore those gossips – we've done nothing wrong. We are legally wed and our children are –"

"Not bastards," she muttered, "unlike your wife. Yes, I am still quite the scandal to be living out in the open as your wife when I was born fallen."

"You are no less dear to me for having been born on the wrong side of the blanket," he said firmly. "In fact, you are more dear to me because of it. You would never have been in service had you been born a great lady, and we would never have had occasion to meet. I am grateful forever that your father couldn't keep it in his pants."

"Who are you and what have you done with my Charlie?" Elsie asked, blinking up at him, stunned by the vulgarity of his words.

"I'm just stating the obvious," he said.

"A tad bit bluntly, love," she countered. "I've never heard you –" She paused, then blushed, thinking of the strings of profanity that escaped his lips in bed once in a while when they were particularly… intense. But his profanity was soft like a whispered prayer, and she could not fault him complimenting her most intimate parts with the vulgar oaths. "Well, yes, but –"

"Shall we go inside?" he inquired softly. "Any moment now, someone is going to look over the garden wall and judge us for being outside without proper coats."

She blushed harder, suddenly realizing he was only in his shirt and waistcoat, not his jacket. "Oh, yes," she murmured. "We should go in, yes."

"What's the matter?" he asked as soon as they were inside.

"I just… I…" How the hell could she tell him that his state of relative undress was wreaking havoc on her self-control? That she wanted to lead him upstairs and have her way with him until they were both exhausted – or till she needed to pack to leave for the Abbey, whichever came first. Her blush deepened, and she muttered, "I… Charlie, I cannae explain."

"But you are all right? Are you peckish? Is the baby all right?" His anxious tone made her clam up even more, afraid to upset him. "Elsie, love, talk to me. Do you want tea?"

"I don't want bloody tea," she hissed. "I want you. There. I said it and I cannae take it back now."

"You have me," he replied.

She let out a huff of breath, then murmured, "Not how I want ye, dear man."

Now it was his turn to be flustered. "Ah, yes, well… mum is minding Meggie," he hedged. At her hesitant murmur of assent, he glanced down at her and said, "There is nothing wrong with a husband and wife taking a few minutes for themselves. And we have been apart for a very long while."

She bit her lip and took his hand, nearly dragging him up the stairs and into the second bedroom. She closed the door and bolted it behind them, and murmured, "Please don't be cross with me – the bairn's got me all topsy-turvy and I want you so badly I can barely stand it."

"Why would I be cross?" he asked, clearly amused, as he began to undress, carefully laying his clothes on the side of Meggie's crib. "I should be so chuffed to have a wife that wants me such as I am."

She paused in her undressing and eyed him. "I'm big as a house and you're nattering on some nonsense about me not loving you as you are?" Elsie huffed.

"You're absolutely gorgeous," he commented. "All curves and plumpness and…" He broke off, clearing his throat with a cough. "I apologize; I've been away from you for too long and I'm not certain you would appreciate me nattering on."

"Not when you're callin' me a fat cow," she grunted, wrestling with the busk of her stays. "You've gone off me, then, seeing as how I'm not thin enough to span with yer hands –"

"Elsie May Carson," he growled, "I have thought of nothing more in the last month than being able to come home and… well…" His voice lowered to almost a whisper. "To fuck you."

Her breath hitched, then became a sharp intake. "…Really?"

"Of course really," he said, indignant. "Did you really think I would turn to… a lady of the night… when I have a perfectly lovely wife that I adore?" He paused, then looked at her for a long moment. "What do you want, Elsie? Do you want us to make love or –"

"You're not meant to be askin' me what I want; you're meant to tell me what I need," she said very quietly. "That is the role of a husband, isn't it? I am yours – your property. You tell me what I'm meant to feel and how I am to behave."

He blinked, confusion spreading over his features. "Where is this coming from, love?"

"I've spent my whole life in service," Elsie said, "knowing I was meant to be with Ida until the day I died. I never hoped to meet someone, never dared to dream I would marry or have children. I didnae learn to cook well, but I can clean wi' the best housemaids. I haven't got a bleeding clue what I'm doing here," she mumbled, breaking down and crying again. One of her hands came up to cover her eyes while the other held her busking closed. "I've got a baby and I know sod all about taking care of her – and another on the way. I need – please, tell me what I'm meant to do and need. I'm lost."

"I can't tell you how to feel," he said softly, pulling her into his arms and just holding her, rubbing her back comfortingly. "I can't and I won't. You aren't my property: you are my wife, my partner in life. What is mine is ours, not mine. You are not lost, Elsie, you're just… tired and overwhelmed. And I am so sorry I've not been here to help –"

"You've been away on important business," she whispered. "I cannae expect you to just drop everything and rush to my side. It's not practical."

"Elsie, do I look like I give a toss if it is practical? You are my wife. My wife and my family are more important to me than anything else. Lord Robert understands this. Elsie, look at me. Elsie?" When she finally turned to look up at him, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I know this has to do with the nasty gossips in the village. And I am a terrible man for leaving you to face it alone. I am sorry."

"It isn't just that," she mumbled, ashamed. "I feel like a burden on your mam – on you."

"You are not a burden," he said firmly, booking no argument. "You have never been, and will never be, a burden." He kissed her forehead again, sighed, then kissed her lips, leaving her tingling. "Elsie May Hughes, if you hadn't already sworn your vows to me, I would ask you for your hand again if only to show you all the days of my life that you are anything but a burden to me."

"You daft, sweet man," Elsie whispered, sobbing anew with fresh tears.

"Oh, love, don't cry," he sighed.

"I cannae help it," she whimpered. "Everythin' sets me off now. I were cryin' last night because Meggie wouldn't go to sleep, and it made her cry more and…" She moaned into his mouth as he kissed her with all the ferocity of an animal – or a very distressed man. Her hand slipped off her stays, and they hung limply in the front now, exposing her chemise and swollen breasts to him. "Charlie, gently," she pleaded as he fondled her with obvious delight. "The doctor was very firm that we're to be gentle about this if we do –"

He picked her up, cutting off her sentence effectively, and deposited her onto the bed with a protest of squeaky springs. "Elsie, you are beautiful and I have missed you dreadfully and if the doctor thinks I am going to 'be gentle' rather than pleasing you, he has another thing coming."

* * *

"I don't think I dislike her," Elsie murmured cautiously, her husband spooned gently around her, his fingers dancing lightly across her belly. "But she isn't… she isn't Ida."

"No, that she is not," Charles agreed. "Miss Levinson is a good woman of kindness and good judgment, however." His breath was hot against the skin on the back of her neck, and Elsie sighed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "Lord Robert and I have spent many hours discussing her, so unless you've a new insight to bring to the table…"

She shook her head. "I believe your assessment to be the truth," she said softly. "I only… I knew Ida inside and out, sure as if she were me own lass. I knew her better than I knew meself, to be quite honest. But Miss Levinson is a mystery and I am terrified I will fail because I am so used to… to being open and frank with Ida. I will overstep lines and it willnae be intentional and –"

"Shh, it's all right," Charles murmured, kissing just below her ear. "It will be fine. She knows who you are and what you meant to Lady Ida. She is offering you an olive branch to show she means no harm to you or to Ida's memory."

"I don't think she realizes I'll only be able to work another month, maybe two," Elsie said with a sigh. "Our not-so-wee lass should be here sooner rather than later."

"You feel it's a girl again?" he asked.

She nodded. "I feel the same way as last time, only much larger. Even your mam says boys carry different to girls."

"Another beautiful lass with your eyes will be a boon to my heart," he murmured. He sighed and muttered, "I suppose we should get up and ready to go to the Abbey now. I would love to have just another hour with you –"

"Maybe we'll have joint accommodation?" Elsie suggested softly. "Surely, they cannot be so cruel as to separate a husband and wife –"

"Servants aren't to marry while employed by the house," Charles reminded her darkly.

"Well, technically, you were the only one under the Crawley's employ," she reminded him. "My salary was paid out by Ida's father. And now, we have been married for quite some time and I am entering the house under the Levinson's employ. They should not deny us a room together."

"They might," he warned. "And it isn't as if we are in Crawley House, where we can merely walk to the other's room. There is a corridor with a lock and key to separate the men and women. You remember that."

She shrugged. "I do, but the point remains –"

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" he asked, interrupting her.

"Yes."

"How much I've missed you?"

"Aye."

"How much I love you?"

"You know, come to think of it, you haven't really said that," she commented teasingly.

"You impish minx," he accused, laughing against her skin. "Naughty lass."

She inhaled deeply, then closed her eyes, secure in his arms. "Your naughty lass," she reminded him.

* * *

Elsie bit down on some pins, hoping that the distraction would keep her from crying out when the next spasm happened in her back. The doctor had assured her that the spasms were just her body preparing for labor, but Elsie had her doubts. She exhaled weakly around the pins and continued pinning flowers to Cora's gown.

The wedding was in less than two hours, and Elsie knew that if she didn't do her utmost best to dress Cora properly and with solemnity, heads – namely hers – would roll. "There, Miss Cora," Elsie said softly, "you're ready. I'll not insult you as your mam did earlier with horrendous tales of wifely duties."

Cora's smile was weak and watery, not at all in keeping with her normal spirit. "Yes, well… I wish you would tell me something good about them. All I know is that a man's… anatomy engorges and he puts it inside the woman."

Elsie rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's about the sum of it," she said sarcastically. "Only there's so much more to it. You can have such great pleasure."

Cora hesitated. "Do you and Mr. Carson find pleasure in… that?"

Elsie blushed. "Yes, we do," she stammered. "Charles may look very disapproving and haughty, as he was trained as an underbutler, but he is very demonstrative of his affections in private quarters." She blushed even more remembering the particularly eager way he had all but feasted on her that morning, bringing her to several shattering climaxes before they'd been forced to get up and face the rest of the world. She cleared her throat. "Lord Robert is a good man, a kind man. Ida confided in me many things that I wish she had not, but they will benefit you, Miss Cora. If you feel pain or discomfort, tell him to stop. If he does something that pleases you, tell him so. Allow him to… to touch you and taste you; it will make you ready for… the act your mother so uncharitably described." She fluffed Cora's bustle and sighed. "It is unlike anything you have ever felt before – and if your man does it correctly, there is great pleasure to be had in all of it."

"And children come from the… seed he will spill?" Cora said worriedly.

Elsie cringed. "He must spill his seed inside you," she said bluntly. "And it must be the right time of the moon for a bairn to take root."

"You and Mr. Carson must be very lucky, then," Cora said pointedly.

Elsie's humiliated blush returned. "Meggie was… Our Meggie came about before we were married properly," she admitted very quietly. "And she were born while I was away to home. This little lass came about in the month or so before Lord Robert left for America." She idly rubbed her belly, rewarded with a feeble kick from the baby. She tried to quell the feeling that something was wrong – the bairn was usually far more active – by telling herself that the baby was probably only asleep.

"I'm sure you're ready for your lying in to begin," Cora said with a smile.

Elsie shrugged: that was still scheduled a week off. "I really want it all to be over and done with," she commented lightly. "I am tired of not being able to see my feet; of these awful mood swings and crying over every little thing. I want to hold my wee lass in my arms at last."

"So you think it's a girl?"

"Aye," Elsie said with a small smile. "We've decided to call her Elinor."

"Oh, that's lovely – after Elinor Dashwood?"

Elsie nodded and flinched, pressing her fist to the small of her back as the spasm took hold again. Within seconds, it had dissipated, and Cora was worriedly stroking her arm to calm her. "Elsie, are you certain the baby isn't coming now?" Cora asked gently.

"The doctor said – he said that it's pre-labor pains," Elsie sighed.

"Have you told Carson?"

"And upset him on the day of Lord Robert's wedding? Over my dead body," Elsie scoffed.

"I will worry all through the service –"

"No, you won't. You will worry about marrying Lord Robert," Elsie said firmly. "I am nobody and nothing. You are important, Miss Cora Levinson. I am not." She put the last finishing touches onto Cora's gown, then helped her with her tiara and veil. "Pretty as a portrait, miss," she declared.

There was a strong knock on the door, then Lady Grantham all but burst in. "My dear, are you nearly enough to finished?" The woman glared at Elsie, but held back her bitter commentary. "Mrs. Carson, we have been waiting an inordinate amount of time for the bride –"

"Mrs. Carson is having pre-labor pains," Cora said. "She is fighting them and we have just finished."

A flicker of something passed over Lady Grantham's face, and she stared at Elsie for a very long time. Elsie didn't flinch or draw back. "Mrs. Carson, I will send for the doctor," Lady Grantham said, her tone sympathetic if not kind. "You should not be on your feet now."

"I'm going to the wedding, m'lady," Elsie said stubbornly.

"Suit yourself," Lady Grantham said dismissively. "But after the wedding, you will be confined to a guest room until such time as your child is born – which might be sooner than you think." She tried to look as if it meant nothing to her, but there was a hint of worry beneath the bluster. "And I will call for the doctor to attend immediately after the service."

"Yes, m'lady," Elsie gritted out between clenched teeth. She had barely taken two steps toward the door when the spasm came – but it didn't go away. Instead, it became a radiating pain, hot and hard, that drove her to her knees. It was only the Countess's quick reflexes that kept her from hitting the ground.

"JAMES!" Cora shrieked. "Send for Mr. Carson in the village and Dr. Stokes at once! Tell them it's Mrs. Carson – the wedding will be put back –"

"No," Lady Grantham snapped. "You go and get in that carriage with your father and you marry my son. I will tend to Mrs. Carson."

"I'd really rather –" Elsie panted in agony.

"I don't give a fig what you'd rather," Lady Grantham said coldly. "You are in labor, Mrs. Carson, if you were not convinced before."

"Elsie, you're white as a sheet," Cora said with alarm. "Come, sit down –"

"No, no, no," Elsie whimpered even as Lady Grantham propelled her to Cora's bed and forced her to sit. "I cannae be in labor already – it's too soon."

"Unfortunately, our children don't know the meaning of proper timing," Violet said, shaking her head and sighing. "Cora, do go on – we will be all right without you."

Elsie watched the bride leave and felt dizziness come over her. Lady Grantham supported her through the worst of it, holding her upright until the spell had passed. "You despise me," Elsie accused.

"You are not my favorite person in the world," Violet confirmed, "but I will not leave you by yourself now." She rubbed Elsie's back hard, and sighed. "And I am afraid I have been overly harsh in condemning you as Ida's murderer. I know you did what you could to make her comfortable as she passed: Robert has said so time and again."

"She was my niece," Elsie choked out.

Violet's massage stopped dead. "Your niece?"

Elsie nodded and closed her eyes. "I am the natural child of Lord Allenby," she admitted very softly. "I'd been with Ida since she were seven years old. You have to believe me when I say if I could have saved her, I would have. The bairn was already gone and she was… almost gone. I couldn't do a thing."

"How did I not know –"

"You didnae need to know," Elsie said, her voice low and strained as pain gripped her stronger than before. "Oh… oh god… fucking shit bugger fuck," she panted. The pain was worse than it had been with Meggie – so much worse. When she could breathe again, she choked out, "I'm so sorry –"

"No, it's all right," Violet dismissed. "I'm afraid to move you down the corridor to an empty room."

"Then I'll –" Elsie bit back a scream. "There isnae time," she grunted. "I need to push – now."

"What do you need me to do?" Violet asked.

"I cannae lie down," Elsie moaned weakly, moving to hold herself up against the bedpost. "I need you to catch the bairn." It was an awkward position, but she knew that gravity would help her and she needed the support.

The next few minutes were a haze of unendurable pain for Elsie and gentle words of encouragement from Lady Grantham. Elsie clenched her teeth and bore down with all of her might, feeling a sudden shock of relief when the baby dropped into Violet's waiting arms.

There was silence.

Elsie began to panic, but then she heard a gush of fluid, and then a squalling baby. She leaned into the bedpost and wept. "He's just fine," Violet said softly. "He was born en-caul – that's why he didn't cry at first. I had to rupture the sac."

"He?" Elsie sobbed.

"Yes, your lad is quite a large lad…"

"But – but I was certain it was a girl –"

"He is definitely a boy," Lady Grantham said firmly. "If you are in doubt, I will show you his tiny pe-"

"No, I believe you," Elsie whimpered. The pains continued until she had delivered the afterbirth, and she was weak and in shock from the exertions.

There was a sudden flurry of activity in the corridor, but before Violet could stop anything from happening, both Charles and the doctor burst into the room. Elsie looked helplessly at her husband and clung to the bedpost, very aware of the carnage around her.

But she chose that moment to faint dead away.

* * *

Her dreams were fleeting, flittering, flirting, a mismash of jumbled sounds, colors, and nothing that made sense. Except for Charles. His voice kept piercing through the nonsense, but the words didn't make any sense in context. "Don't you dare leave me now, Elsie." "You've not seen our son, Elsie." "Please open your eyes, love." "I love you." "I need you."

 _"I can't live without you."_

The pain radiated through her abdomen, shocking her awake. He was sitting at her bedside, his hand wrapped around hers tightly. He was asleep, but only just. Her fingers twitched, then curled into his, and he jerked awake like he'd been struck.

"Elsie?" he whispered. "Oh, thank the lord…"

She struggled to remember why she was in such a grand bed as this, then gasped. "Charlie – the baby –"

"He's fine, love," he was quick to assure her. "Our little boy is quite all right. Lady Grantham has procured a wet nurse until you're back on your feet."

"I don't understand."

"You almost died," he said softly.

"Did I?" she asked.

"You need to rest," he insisted.

"I feel… dreadful."

Charles nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm not leaving you, lass," he whispered. "Not even for a moment."

"What happened?"

"You went into labor and delivered our lad with only Lady Grantham to help you," he said softly. "And the doctor and I arrived just as you began to bleed heavily. He stopped the bleeding, but only just. I almost lost you, Elsie…"

"Can't get rid of me that easily," she murmured, almost proud of the words.

"You are not leaving this bed," he snapped, finding no humor in her words. "Do you understand? You are going to be nursed back to health and waited on hand and foot – and you are not going to fight me on this, Elsie May Carson."

"I'm not intending to," she said softly.

"Your father is here," he said. "That is how close you were to death: I cabled your father, begging him to come."

She stared at him. "How long have I been –"

"Five days," Charles said, choking up. "Five days when I didn't know if my best friend in the world was going to die – five days of contemplating being a lone father."

There was a knock on the door, then Cora came in. "Charles, Lady Violet sent me to check in… Elsie, darling, you're awake!" She exclaimed, rushing to her maid's bedside. "Thank the lord – we've been so worried you wouldn't pull through. Lord Allenby will be pleased."

Elsie exhaled weakly and mumbled, "I want to see my son –"

"Not till you're a bit stronger," Charles said firmly. "Your arms are shaking," he pointed out. "You've lost a lot of blood, love."

"Do not tell me I cannot see my son," Elsie hissed. "Has he been seen to by the doctor?"

"He is fine," Charles said. "Ten pounds and three ounces, even a month early. If you'd gone to term, you would have died for certain."

"Well, good thing our lad was early, then," she snapped. "I need to see him, Charlie. I need to know he's all right even if I am not."

"I'll get young master Carson from the nursery," Cora said before Charles could argue, and disappeared.

"You must rest," Charles said warningly. "I am not joking about how close to death you were. I will not allow you to –"

"I am not leaving the bed," Elsie said in a soft tone, stroking his arm comfortingly. "Nor am I likely to for some time, if my legs feeling like aspic are any indication."

"I tried to contact your sister," he said quietly, "but I've not had a reply."

Elsie exhaled and squeezed his hand. "I've not had a response for five years," she admitted. "I am afraid she has written us off for dead. But thank you for trying, love."

"Lady Grantham is quite worried about you," he said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "How you managed to take that bitch down to a tame lap dog I'll never know."

"Might have had something to do with all the blood," Elsie sighed. "It… changes you."

"It certainly does," he grunted. "I almost lost you because I lost control and took you like an animal –"

"Charlie," Elsie sighed. "Don't you dare use this as an excuse to stop makin' love to me –"

"I can't stand by and watch you carry another baby and almost die in the process," he said sharply. "This is my fault and could have been prevented."

"By what means exactly?" she asked, feeling a bit dizzy. "We still got Meggie even though you were pulling out –"

"Elsie, for pity's sake, please just –"

"No, Charles."

"Elsie –"

"I said no," she repeated very quietly, very firmly. "You wanted me to be an equal partner in this marriage, and you will not shut me out because you feel guilty for something you had no control over."

He was angry and even hurt by her words; she could see it plainly written on his face. "I will speak to you about this when your sense of reason returns," he muttered finally.

"And I will tell you to go wank somewhere else," she grumbled back.

The door opened again and Cora came in with a smile and a blanketed bundle in her arms. "He can't wait to meet his mama," she said brightly, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room.

It only took Elsie a split second to fall in love all over again. "Charles Edward Carson, Jr.," she whispered, smiling down at her son. "Don't you think, da?" she asked, looking up at Charles.

* * *

Margaret came to the door, Meggie on her hip. A short, plump woman with dark auburn hair and piercing blue eyes that looked very similar to Elsie was standing on the stoop. "Hello," she said. "I am looking for Mr. Charles Carson."

"He's up at the big house," Margaret said. "There's been a terrible fuss over his wife."

"Yes," the woman said, nodding, "I know. He wrote to me, you see, and I… well, yes. Mrs. Carson is my sister. Ye ken?" The woman seemed English enough, speaking in posh upper-crust accent, but then her worry caused her to slip back into Scottish habits.

"You are Rebecca?" Margaret said.

"Yes, Rebecca Smythe – I need to see my sister."

"Come inside a spell and have a cuppa," Margaret insisted gently. "Meet our Meggie – she's your niece and smart as a whip, she is." It didn't take much convincing to get the travel-weary woman inside and comfortable with tea and biscuits. "Now… you can't just go charging up to the Abbey, you know, and demand to see her. Especially with Lord Allenby there."

Rebecca's hand trembled. "What is he doing here?" she asked in a tone that could hide none of her bitterness.

"Elsie was hovering on the edge of death for days," Margaret snapped. "Who else were we to contact? Your mother is dead."

Rebecca blanched again. "I cannot see him."

"Then you will allow me some time to get you in to see Elsie without him knowing," Margaret said firmly. "It will take time to plan."

"I have time," Rebecca said, looking over at Meggie, who was gnawing on a biscuit. "She's a lovely baby."

"They've a wee lad, too," Margaret said. "He's the cause of all the fuss. Poor Elsie didn't reckon on birthing a ten pounder a month early."

Rebecca's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "My word – is the bairn all right?" she asked.

"He is a strong lad – we're all very worried about our Elsie."

"You call her 'our Elsie' like she means something to you –"

"She is my daughter as much as Charles is my son," Margaret snapped. "And I would not see her or our family hurt just for a petty feud."

Rebecca laughed. "A petty feud? Is that what she told you happened? I was thrown out on my ear with no money and no home to go to because I lost my posting as Miss Ida's governess? Ha!" Rebecca's hands were shaking in earnest now. "My niece's father raped me and threw me out on the streets. I ran as far and as fast as I could and never looked back. I am married to a good man; we have five sons. Am I any less worthy than Elsie?"

Margaret reached over and gently held the woman's hand. "Sometimes, bad things happen to good people, and we don't understand why," she said gently. "Elsie isn't anymore worthy than you are."

"My father turned me away in shame," Rebecca said bleakly. "I never got to say goodbye to Elsie or mam."

"And you've kept yourself away all this time because you…"

"They aren't my family anymore," Rebecca whispered.

"Don't say that, love," Margaret sighed. "Our Elsie tells Meggie stories about her Auntie Becky and the farm all the time."

Rebecca's face crumpled and she began to cry in earnest. "Oh, god, what she must think of me –"

"She will just be glad to see you," Margaret promised gently.

* * *

Elsie awakened to pain in her breasts as they leaked milk. She blindly reached for the towels that were on the bedside table to stop the leakage, not finding her target. Suddenly a small hand pressed a bit of toweling into her palm and Elsie murmured, "Thank you." She opened her eyes slowly, unsure who would be waiting for her this time. More often than not, it was Charles, but that was a very tiny hand to be her husband.

"Hello, Elsie."

"Becky," was all she could manage to say.


	12. Chapter 12

XII:

"Here now," Becky said gently, "let me help." Once Elsie was better situated, her sister sighed. "Your husband made it sound like you were positively done for."

"I think I was," Elsie murmured. "But you came? After all of the letters and all of the times you could have come… you came now?"

Becky hesitated. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I had to stay away. You know that. Mam and Da turned me out on my ear and… I hate that he's here now. But you're my sister. I should have been stronger for you, Elsie. I should have… I should have done so many things." She exhaled a sad sigh, then took Elsie's hand in her own. "I am glad – so glad – that you will be all right."

"It's been… ten years since I've seen you, and nearly three since you've written…"

Becky nodded and frowned. "I am sorry."

"Tell me why?" Elsie breathed. "Why did you just… leave?"

"I didn't leave," Becky said. "I was thrown out." She shook her head. "You don't need to know. All you need to know is that when Mam and Da disowned me, I made up a new name and went off with the money I took from your pocketbook and started a new life. I met my husband and have my lads, and we are as well as we can be."

"Five lads," Elsie said.

"Soon to be six," Becky admitted with a small smile. "But you… your daughter is a joy, Elsie. You never thought you'd leave service and now look at you – a mam, a wife…"

"Still a maid," Elsie mumbled. "A part of a fine household, but never really a part of it."

Becky flinched. "Like when we were little," she said darkly. "Held at arm's length because he was ashamed of us."

Elsie sighed and squeezed her sister's hand. "The past is the past," she whispered. "It's dead now."

"Tell me about your Charles – is he a good man?"

Elsie nodded. "The best man I could ever have hoped for," she said softly. "We are happy together."

"He's very tall," Becky commented.

"Yes," Elsie agreed. "Probably why our children have both been rather large."

Becky leaned over the bed in earnest and said, "Elsie, you almost died. You need to abstain from… that side of things. That man will never know a moment's happiness if you die; you know that as well as anyone, I daresay."

Elsie huffed. "Imagine you not being around for so long, having the temerity to lecture me on not having anymore bairns… And you're having a sixth!"

Becky snorted. "My last, god willing – if it's a girl, he says there'll never be need for another."

Elsie made a face. "Leave it to a man to want what it mightn't have."

Becky chuckled. "Most men would long for a son… he wants only for a daughter," she said simply. "You have both. That must please your husband."

Elsie felt her face fall. "He isn't very pleased with me at the moment," she said. "We argued about marital rights and… I'm afraid, Becky. I'm truly afraid for the first time in my life that I will lose what I love most because I am a stupid git full of pride and hubris –"

"No," Becky said firmly. "You are no such thing, Elsie. Even when we were girls, you weren't… you have always been the staid, practical one of us." She rubbed her sister's arm comfortingly. "He is worried for you. He will be cross for that reason alone: you scared him more than he will admit to anyone. He's shaken; it will pass."

There was a knock on the door and Elsie called, "Who's there?"

"Only me," Charles responded gruffly. "It's luncheon; the kitchens have sent up bread and broth, and I'm the only one fit to deliver it right now."

Becky got to her feet quickly and said, "I should go –"

"No," Elsie murmured. "Stay, please. Don't leave on my account. Father doesn't need to know that you're here and you've not properly met Charles –"

The door opened and Charles came in. He blinked in surprise, then said, "You might have cabled, saying that you were coming, Mrs. Smythe."

Becky's brow rose. "And how do you know –"

"There is no mistaking my wife's sister," he said, settling into the chair Becky had recently vacated. "Elsie, love, do you feel strong enough to feed yourself or should I hold the bowl for you?"

She paused, searching his face for any trace of the anger that had been there before she had collapsed into exhaustion. When she saw none, she exhaled a soft sigh, and murmured, "Will you help, please?"

Charles spooned broth into her mouth. "I trust your journey was good, Mrs. Smythe?" he inquired in a genteel, conversational way.

"It was," Becky said, watching them intently. "I met your mother and Meggie," she added. "That's how I came to be here – she brought me up to the big house and Lady Cora brought me to Elsie."

Elsie spluttered, nearly choking on the broth. "Lady Cora… helped you?" she croaked.

"Yes, Mrs. Carson told her that I didn't want it known I was in the house – or really, in Yorkshire at all – and Lady Cora brought me up the back stairs," Becky said. "She's quite nice, for an American."

Charles exhaled and covered a twitch in his jaw, but not before Elsie saw it. He was conflicted, and she gently touched his arm to steady him. "Love, Lord Allenby threw her out many years ago," she said softly. "She doesn't need to relive his censure. I'm certain we can find a way that our Becky can be here and not see him."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't like all this sneaking around," he said gruffly. "It isn't becoming a lady –"

"Good thing I'm not a lady," Becky quipped wryly. She let out a tiny, near hysterical laugh, and Elsie had to bite back both a retort and an echoing giggle. "I can't lose Elsie," she said simply, her mirth vanished.

"No one is trying to take her away from you," Charles said softly. "I just don't… I don't care for subterfuge."

"It's not skulking around," Elsie sighed. "She just doesn't want to see him. I don't blame her: I don't bloody well want to see him and I know you'll insist. You called him here, after all…"

"Because we weren't certain you'd last an hour, let alone a night," Charles muttered irritably; there was the simmering anger again, and she almost flinched at it radiating in her direction. "You cannot fault me cabling him to come."

"No, of course not," she murmured, chastened again.

"He wants to see you when you've finished eating," Charles said firmly.

Becky said, "I should go, then –"

"No," Elsie said. She ate a bite of bread and leaned back against her pillows, exhausted from the effort. "No, please stay. Both of you. I'm not strong enough on my own: he will try to coerce me into giving up my son again –"

"No one is taking our son," Charles said firmly. "You can trust me to guarantee that."

"He can take any one of mine," Becky huffed. "That would be punishment enough for his sins, eh? How about the twins? Two eight year old boys who like to dole out fisticuffs and mud pies."

Elsie's eyes welled up with tears. "I don't want anything to do with… with our old lives," she whispered. "Not now. Not since I've got Charlie and our wee'uns and everything I've ever wanted."

"I never wanted it," Becky said sharply. "You… you're my sister," she said. "I'm so sorry I left you. It's them I can't stand. Him and her; she's dead, and he's a pompous prig."

"To be fair, that's basically his job description," Charles supplied.

"He pinned everything on Ida and lost the game," Becky countered. "And now what? He wants to just play happy families after everything he's done and pretend that his eldest children weren't treated like shite on his shoes?"

Elsie inhaled sharply. "Becky… please stay," she implored. "If for no other reason than to support me."

Becky hesitated, swaying a little on her feet. "I'm not promising I will behave in a manner befitting a lady of my status," she said grudgingly.

"No one is asking you to," Charles said.

Elsie was a bit surprised by his forthright declaration; he was normally such a stickler for propriety. "Charlie, love, are you –"

"I'm all right," he conceded. "Whatever he has done to your sister to create such utter vitriol and hatred leads me to believe it was deserved. And I will not be the one to tell her that she cannot express herself." Charles cleared his throat. "At least… quietly and within boundaries."

Becky bit back a laugh. "You have quite a man, Elsie," she said darkly.

Elsie exhaled and murmured, "I do." She looked up at Charles and added, "I suppose we should get this over with."

Five minutes passed where Becky worked diligently to make her sister presentable – at least to a point. Then there was a knock and Charles and Bruce Hughes were both there, in the room. Bruce's face registered shock – true, earnest surprise – when he saw his younger daughter, and he said, "You came?"

"She is my sister," Becky said simply.

"But you didn't come to your mother's –"

"You're here for Elsie, not me," Becky snapped, cutting him off. "She's the one what almost died. So say your piece and bugger off to Scotland."

"I never thought to see the day when one of my children could be so unbearably rude –"

"Pot meet kettle," Becky muttered, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

"Enough sniping," Elsie exhaled wearily. "Enough, enough, enough! Lord Allenby, please say what you've come so far to say and then… go. Please. I've not got the constitution for any of this and lord knows I hate an atmosphere."

Charles bit back a chuckle, though Elsie saw it from the corner of her eye. He was doing a good job of remaining stoic and on the sidelines; his interest was in her, and not the rest of it.

Bruce sighed and looked down at his hands. "I cannot begin to apologize for my many sins," he muttered. "Beginning with seducing your mother and ending with… well, to be honest, without properly making her my wife before she died."

"You might make an effort," Becky hissed.

"I did not want to believe that my son in law was that kind of a man," Bruce said, meeting Becky's eyes. "He seduced my daughter, yes, but they were a good match and –"

"And she died and he took pleasure in a rotating supply of maids," Becky shot back.

"I wanted to believe you were lying to me, so I didn't have to face the truth, and for that… I cannot be forgiven."

Elsie blinked and inhaled sharply as the picture came into focus. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked her sister in alarm.

"Because it was my fault," Becky said, her voice distant and cold. "I was the soft touch; you were no-nonsense and all business and you'd knee a man before you'd let him try anything funny. But I was younger and stupid. I'm sorry I took your money, Elsie, but I had to get out of there somehow and get home –"

"The money never mattered," Elsie whispered. "You've no idea how scared I was when I didn't hear from you – when I found out you weren't at home. I cried for hours when I got your first letter, I was so relieved that you were alive." She reached for Becky, beckoning her sister closer until she could take her hand tightly. "I never want to feel like that again. Don't shut me out."

Becky nodded and squeezed Elsie's hand.

"I wanted to marry your mother in a church, to show the world that I loved that woman from the moment I clapped eyes on her," Bruce said. "But she was stubborn and insisted that our handfasting was enough – that it was enough in the eyes of the law and she didn't need the Church's blessing." He looked like a caged animal, wary and ready to pounce. "There was a witness to our handfasting," he added very quietly. "I never told my parents: they thought I was making it up and it could be undone by making me marry a good English girl. And so began my life as a bigamist."

"Oh my god," Elsie croaked, looking at him in horror. "She said there was a handfasting – not a witness to it. It was legal… it was a true marriage that whole time and you – how could you? How could you do that to her? How could you hate her so much that –"

"I love her," Bruce said, cutting her off. "That's why I never let her go, Elsie."

"You sick, sadistic man," Elsie spat in anger. "You treated her like –"

"I know how I treated her, and I am shamed by my actions, lass. And I know how I treated my children. You do not need to remind me."

Charles cleared his throat. "If the handfasting was legal," he said, "that would make Elsie and Becky legitimate, would it not?"

"They are my surviving legitimate children, yes," Bruce said. "Elsie being the eldest, I have made provision for her to inherit my estates and title, as they aren't entailed. Becky and her family will inherit a considerable sum of money and houses in Dorset, Manchester, and Aberdeen that were inherited from my mother's family and are not part of the main estate." He looked at Elsie, then, his gaze boring into her like a fury. "I cannot begin to atone for my sins, and throwing money and property at you is vulgar in the extreme."

Elsie's mind was racing. "You mustn't tell anyone," she said. "That knowledge mustn't leave this room. Your solicitor mustn't ever say anything to anyone until your death. Do you understand?"

"Elsie, the scandal is mine – of my own making…"

"Yes," she agreed, "it is. I cannot… Father, I cannae be your heiress and be Mrs. Carson. I want to be a wife and a mother on my terms, as my Charlie's lass – the money and the prestige and scandal and… it will be too much. Please understand – I am not… I'm not turning you away. I'm just saying –"

"To carry my guilt to the grave," Bruce sighed.

Becky was very quiet, holding Elsie's hand tightly. Elsie rubbed reassuring circles on the back of her sister's hand with her thumb. "Yes, I suppose… that is what I am asking," Elsie murmured.

"I will do it… but only because you've asked me to," he said with a heavy sigh. "I regret choices I have made, paths I've taken… but the one thing I can never regret is how it felt to hold you in my arms after you were born. Any of you. My children." He ran a hand through his hair and frowned. "I was going to tell you after Ida married and was well-settled and it couldn't be undone."

"You would have hurt her very deeply," Elsie said. "She always thought very highly of you."

Becky finally found her voice. "So I am 'forgiven' then?" she asked bitterly. "After so many years, I'm just meant to come back into the fold and play happy families?"

"No," Bruce said. "I wouldn't dream that you would ever want to forgive me. But you deserve something when I die – you are my daughter, as well as Elsie is."

"I've never told my husband anything but that I have a sister," Becky said. "And that I was disowned. What is he going to think when suddenly I'm being given houses and money – and he cannot have any of it because it will be mine and our children's? He will be furious."

Elsie shifted in her bed and murmured, "Tell him the truth, love. Tell him everything. Everything."

"I can't," Becky said. "I'm not strong like you, Elsie. I'm a soft touch."

"You can," Elsie promised her. "And you will. You must." She looked up at Charles, whose brow was furrowed with worry. "Charlie?"

"You will be a Countess," Charles said, "and our children will be the Honourable Lady and Lord Carsons; but I will be nothing."

"You will be my husband," Elsie said firmly.

"There is a provision for that, as well," Bruce spoke up softly. "Notarized by the Queen, granting you the title of Lord Carson." He frowned, his expression matching Charles's. "I had to go through proper channels – back channels, but channels nonetheless. I was owed a favor by Prince Albert: I merely called it due."

"She knows?" Elsie asked, dread in her heart.

Bruce nodded tersely. "But she willna say anything," he said. "It is a matter of righting wrongs, Elsie, and she is upset that I've not taken the chance to do it before now. I am upset with myself for the very same thing."

"That's why you're here?" Elsie asked. "To make amends?"

"To tell you that I am glad you are still alive," Bruce said. "And to right the wrongs I've done you."

"None of us are perfect," Charles said.

"No," Elsie whispered, reaching for her father's hand, "no one is perfect."


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry, it's been a hot minute since I've been able to sit down and work on this. Work, a wedding, several illnesses, etc. Anyway... here's the nonsense.

* * *

XIII:

"Are you glad to be going back to work tomorrow?" Charles asked softly as he braided Elsie's hair for the night. She had shown him how to do it and patiently sat through his less than worthy efforts until he had become adept at it; now it was one of their favorite parts of the day.

She shrugged and exhaled a noncommittal reply. "I suppose I am," she murmured. "I've been idle for weeks. It's enough to make a woman of action go mad." She picked at an invisible piece of lint on her nightdress, then heaved a great sigh. "I will miss our lass and our lad, though," Elsie said with a weary smile. "Your mum will have her work cut out for her, I think."

He stifled a chuckle. "Meggie is a good girl," he said, "but she is prone to mayhem when she decides to misbehave."

"I feel badly, leaving her all alone with them –"

"She loves every minute," he promised gently, tying off her braid. "Just as you love every moment of work you do."

"I don't want to give it up," Elsie said, her tone very quiet and almost harsh. "But there will come a day when I haven't a choice. Thanks to… my father."

Therein lay the elephant in the room. They hadn't spoken about Bruce Hughes or the inheritance or anything else since that day when he had dropped everything into Elsie's lap. The few times he had begun to speak about it, Elsie had shut him down. But now she was bringing it up.

"Do you want to talk about it now?" he asked.

She turned and faced him. "I still don't understand how he could… how he could do that to her," she said, biting her lip. "All those years… she stood by him and watched someone else take the place that was rightfully hers. She raised his children and kept his household running and – and she should have been the lady of the house, but…"

Charles exhaled and raised his hands in surrender. "I don't know, Elsie. He must have felt obligated to her in a way –"

"He married her and then he married someone else, and she had to sit there and watch her be –" Elsie broke off and shook her head, looking away. "I don't understand. I never will. Bloody men and their… their standards."

"Elsie, love," he sighed, "whatever your father has done, you can rest assured I will not repeat –"

"If you ever find someone else you love more than me," she interjected, cutting him off, "just tell me. Just be honest with me. Tell me the truth, Charles."

He felt violent revulsion; the very thought of finding anyone that could even come near enough to touch her in his estimations was ludicrous. "That will never happen," he said, nausea settling deep into the pit of his stomach.

"You nor I know what the future holds," Elsie warned. "You may find a maiden preferable to me in a few years' time and regret ever –"

Unbidden, his fingers clamped down around her shoulders. "Elsie, it will not happen," Charles said firmly. "I am in love with you, and there will be no other woman in my life – until our daughter is grown, and then, I will be too busy swinging my cricket bat at the young men in the village to even look at another woman."

She stifled a giggle. "You daft sod."

"I mean every word of it," he said. "I don't think you understand when I made my vows, I meant every word. That I intend to be with you every day until the day I die – you can't go first, Elsie."

"You don't get to make that choice – God does," she murmured.

"I pray every day now that if the Lord thinks he must have you, that he takes me in your stead," he said in earnest. She didn't know that the handful of days when they weren't certain of her recovery were the lowest point of his life. Without her, he didn't feel capable of caring for the children; he didn't feel able to even rise from bed without intervention. The obsession was uncomfortable, and he did not want to impose it upon her, to guilt her or shame her into doing what he wanted. No, he was too well pleased to let her just be and allow her to be her own person and not beholden or belonging to him. Even before the inheritance and titles and nonsense – she was his superior in every way.

"Dinnae be ridiculous," she scoffed. "What must people think of us?" she asked. "You silly, besotted man…"

"Not all men are like your father," he said. "By contrast… Lord Robert has done his duty in marrying Lady Cora, though he still loves Lady Ida. I do not pity him the choice, but I do feel his pain. It would be nearly as great as mine, should I lose you." Charles released her shoulders, realizing suddenly that he was probably hurting her, though she would never say it. "I made a commitment to you for the entirety of our lifetimes, Elsie, because I meant it. I want to provide for you and our children, to be your safety and comfort – and no amount of money or prestige or title will ever change that. My intentions were and are and shall always be honorable."

"I know," she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek with a loving smile on her lips. "Believe me, I know." She glanced at the cradle when Charlie made a noise in his sleep, then started to fuss.

"Our lad has impeccable timing," Charles sighed, getting up to retrieve his son. While Meggie was his first child and he adored her with every fiber of his being – and he truly did favor her – he had been conditioned to believe that a son was more important than a daughter. It was a stark schism in his reality to believe that he should treat his intelligent, beautiful daughter differently than his newborn son. That men would kill over a son was ridiculous to him; he would gladly bean a blighter for insulting his daughter, though. "Come now, Charlie," he soothed, bouncing the baby in his arms. "Is your poor tummy hurting you?"

"I must say I'm jealous," Elsie murmured. "He doesn't settle for me that easily." Her voice was filled with sadness, and he turned toward her, just staring at the heartbreak on her face.

"Love, he's very small," he reminded her. "And I am very large. Maybe he just feels –"

"Safer?" she interjected. "I couldn't possibly blame him, after I almost killed him during labor –"

"You didn't."

"I did," she argued.

"Elsie, love, you saved his life."

"I don't want to talk anymore," she whispered.

He exhaled a sigh and nodded, knowing that things were only going to fester between them for a while yet.

* * *

The days flew by at breakneck speed. Every time Elsie turned around, little Charlie and Meggie were learning new skill or another, and she relished her nights with them – which were few and far between. And she was growing increasingly irritated with Charles; if she slept at their quarters at Crawley House, he would come to the cottage. And vice versa.

For all of his talk of love and devotion, when she needed him the most – in the deepest part of the night when she awoke in a cold sweat, panicking and alone – he wasn't there. It made her wary and guarded during the day, rebuffing him gently when he would try to gain her attentions.

She finished pinning Cora's hair in place and murmured, "Anything else, Lady Cora?"

Cora bit her lip and said, "As you know, the doctor came by earlier…"

"And is it as you hoped?" Elsie inquired. Cora had been feverishly praying and waiting with baited breath for any hope of a child for nearly a year. There had been once when even Elsie had been convinced it was happening, only to have her hopes dashed to bits.

"It is," Cora said, blushing. "I am actually with child, finally – "

Elsie tried to smile, but she knew all too well what might yet come to pass. "I am glad for you, m'lady," she said softly. "Truly."

"Have you and Mr. Carson given anymore thought to bringing the children into our nursery once it is open?" Cora asked cheerfully.

"I couldn't possibly impose on you and Lord Robert in such a way," Elsie said.

"It wouldn't be an imposition," Cora declared in a firm, no-nonsense manner. "We will already have the nursery open and running and our child can play with your children and be happy. There won't be an extra cost because we will employ a nanny and two nurses anyway." She waved her hand dismissively. "I will tell Robert and we will make plans. Of course, all of this is months away, and plans do go awry, but there's no reason not to have at least opened the option to you and Carson."

"There are many people who would not," Elsie admitted. "We are only servants –"

"You are family," Cora contradicted.

Elsie hesitated a moment, then said, "I need to tell you something. You mustn't tell anyone."

"Oh, I do love a good secret," Cora confessed dramatically.

"You say that now," Elsie said. "You mightn't feel the same once I've told you."

"I'm certain it can't be as bad as Rosamund telling Mama that she was to marry Marmaduke Painswick," Cora said, giggling. "Papa took it in stride, but… oh, there was terse conversation in French that they assumed I couldn't translate."

Elsie licked her lips and choked out a laugh that sounded more like a plea for help. Whatever demon possessed her to tell Cora part of her distress spurred her on and she said, "You met Lord Allenby. My father."

"Yes – he is a genial, agreeable man…"

"If only you knew," Elsie said, her hands clenching into fists ineffectually at her sides. "He… has done things that no good Christian man or woman should condone. Such as wedding my mother in accordance with Scottish law, then marrying another woman in accordance with English law."

There was dead silence. Then a sudden noise from Cora's throat. "Oh my word – your poor mother –"

"She made her bed and she lay in it," Elsie murmured. "I am the eldest, and… as there is no male heir, and laws of inheritance for Scottish titles are different…"

The absolute silence reigned again.

"Why are you here?" Cora finally managed to say. "Why are you here, changing my clothes and –"

"We are family," Elsie said simply.

"You have money and power and an estate of your own –"

"When he dies, yes," Elsie agreed. "Until then, I am no better than the servant I am."

"What about your husband?"

"Discretionary title. And the line will go on through our Meggie – I'll not dispense with Scottish law over English and make our lass lesser than her brother," Elsie said firmly.

"Does he know?" Cora asked.

Elsie nodded. "Nothing changes until Lord Allenby dies," she said very softly. "Though, to be honest, I don't think he will last long without Mam. Another year or two at best."

Cora took a deep breath and said, "Of course, all of this means that you can have no good objection at all to us opening the nursery to you –"

"The world will object."

"The world can sod it," Cora replied. "You know, I think most of our problems would go away if we just told people that they're behaving like idiots when they are."

Elsie restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "M'lady, your American is showing," she pointed out.

"Elsie, I don't understand – you are an heiress and yet… you're in service."

"I am nothing and no one until he dies," Elsie said. "And I choose to serve. That is who I am, who I have become – I am your maid."

"I feel very guilty."

"You shouldn't," Elsie soothed her. "I am content with my lot."

"Your lot isn't what you're pretending it is," Cora said sharply. "You are a Vicountess. You should be eating at table with us, not… not… dressing me."

Elsie paused for a long moment, then murmured, "This is what I know. This is what I was trained for all my life, Cora – to be a confidant, a woman behind the scenes. I cannae begin to fathom what it will be like to step out as a great lady –"

"Your father has done you a great disservice," Cora huffed. "As did your mother."

"You mustn't tell," Elsie implored. "Not even Lord Robert. Especially not him. It will get back to Lady Grantham and Lady Painswick and then it will be everywhere –"

"Why so much secrecy? Why not just rip off the bandage and let it out?"

"He is a bigamist and the scandal would be… horrendous." Elsie shrugged. "If it happens when he is dead, everyone will be horrified and disappointed, but not hold me accountable. If it happens when he is alive… fingers will be pointed everywhere and I am just vain enough to worry they will be pointed at me, as well."

"You are innocent in all of his sins," Cora snapped.

"Maybe so," Elsie whispered. "But I am not ignorant to the ways of the world. I have already faced more censure in my lifetime than anyone deserves. And what will happen when I am a maid elevated to Countess? I don't know anything. I will live in a castle and have good money to throw after bad and I will never sit at table with anyone because I cannae tell which is an oyster fork and which is a prawn fork –" Elsie inhaled sharply. "I will be a ridiculous imposter."

"No, you won't," Cora declared firmly. "I promise you that. Even if it means teaching you everything I know."

"I cannae ask you to –"

"You aren't asking a thing of me," Cora said firmly. "I might have to tell Robert eventually, when he begins to wonder why I am spending so much time with you, but until then…"

There was a knock on the door and Robert appeared. "Cora, we need to leave," he said. "Thank you, Mrs. Carson – we will return around eleven, if you could have Cora's things ready before you go to the cottage for the evening, we will manage without you tonight."

Cora raised an eyebrow. Robert raised one back. Elsie cleared her throat. "Are you certain, m'lord?"

"Of course – you should spend the evening with Mr. Carson on his birthday, after all."

"Yes, m'lord," Elsie murmured. His consideration was astounding, though he did try to be incredibly proper about it in mixed company. They towed the line of propriety, her wayward nephew by marriage and her aunt of some persuasion, the situation far more complicated than anyone cared to admit. "Thank you."

The Crawleys left for dinner at the Abbey and Elsie went back to puttering around Cora's room, putting away stray bits and bobs, identifying which dresses needed repairs… anything to avoid the elephant in the room. She was in the process of inspecting petticoats when Charles came into the room. "There you are," he said. "I've been looking all over – thought you might have escaped to mum's."

Elsie exhaled and murmured, "Charles… we need to talk."

He nodded and said, "Yes, we do – but not here. And not now."

"I… I don't like this," she confessed, gesturing at the expanse between them, open and empty. "Us, like this – I need you, Charlie."

He exhaled raggedly and said, "Come home with me, love."

"You're not going to push me away?" she countered.

"I don't like this… this distance, this… atmosphere… any more than you do," he said softly. "And it's all my fault, Elsie. I pushed you away, trying to keep myself under control and –"

She swallowed hard and murmured, "You're right. We shouldn't talk here. Not when anyone could hear us and –" She inhaled sharply, deeply, when he came over and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple protectively. "Charles, happy birthday –"

"Another year went by and I wasted it," he said very quietly. "I wasted a year of my life without you, even though you were right here with me –"

"Our lad will be one soon," she reminded him gently. "And we've not – since he was –"

"I can't lose you," he said simply. "And Doctor Henry said if you were to bear another child, you might just –"

She softened then; his worry was palpable, like a living thing between them. The fear was real, but if they allowed it to come between them, how would it be any better than if they'd never wed at all? If they had gone a different way full of longing desire and furtive glances, never towing the line of marriage and love, but living together all the same? She stroked his arms where they lay across her belly and whispered, "I am sorry."

"You needn't be when it isn't any fault of your own," he said softly. "Come home with me?"

"Do you want that?" she asked.

"More than anything."

She smiled. "On one condition."

"The condition being what?"

"That you hold me tonight, the way a husband and wife are meant to do."

"Elsie –"

"We don't have to do anything, but I need you to hold me."

"I don't want to do anything that could hurt you –"

"You're just going to wrap me in swaddling and set me out to dry, then?" she countered. "Because that may be the only way I don't get hurt. And even then, it isn't a sure deal, is it?"

He exhaled a low sigh. "Let's just go to the cottage," he said quietly. "The walls have ears here."

"I know," Elsie muttered.

They finished their work for the evening and strolled, arm in arm, back to his mother's cottage. When they went inside, Meggie slipped down from the table in her excitement and came to throw her arms around Charles's legs. "Da! Heppy birfday!" she crowed excitedly. "Gotsu cake."

"We made you a small sponge," Margaret spoke up from where she was feeding Charlie some chunky peas and porridge. "Nothing fancy, but our Meggie helped a lot."

"Did you help Granny make a cake?" Charles asked, releasing Elsie to scoop Meggie up into his arms. "You're such a big girl, Meggie – soon, you'll be helping mummy sew buttons on."

Meggie shook her head and murmured, "No, da, ouchie."

"She's pricked herself on my pincushion," Elsie explained gently, reaching out to stroke her daughter's dark hair. "Did you finish your dinner, love?"

"She's got a bit more stew," Margaret said.

"Do you want to sit on my lap and finish while your Da and I eat?" Elsie inquired. Meggie nodded and crawled from her father's arms to Elsie's, tucking her chin tightly into her mother's shoulder. "What did you do with granny today?" she asked.

"Stiw cake," Meggie said cheerfully. "Hep ganny wif Chawwie."

"Did you help granny with your brother?" Charles asked, his eyebrows raising as he looked over at his mother.

"She did," Margaret said. "We took a nap together this morning and she woke up and soothed him so I could rest a few minutes more. She's a good girl, our Meggie."

"Oh, aye, she is," Elsie praised, settling in at the table with the little girl on her lap. Charles brought a bowl of stew in each hand, and a large loaf of bread sat in the middle of the table. Elsie poked at Meggie's few mouthfuls of stew before she gently shoveled one into the little girl's mouth. "Now, you've got to finish your dinner, lass, so we can have your da's cake – and it's going to be so yummy, isn't it?"

Elsie looked over at Charles, who was eating slowly, savoring his dinner. She had missed this closeness, this sense of family and love in the room, wondered briefly how they could possibly have lived without it for months on end. Meggie snuggled back into her and accepted another bite of carrot, and Elsie just held her, breathing in her scent and the soft smells of life well lived in the small cottage. The little girl was nearly asleep as she was finishing the third bite, but she was putting up a valiant effort to stay awake for cake.

Elsie ate her stew quickly once Meggie was done, and then the cake was set down in front of Charles. It wasn't a large cake, but it would suffice. Elsie plopped Meggie onto Charles's lap and took Charlie from his grandmother, intending to clean him up and put him to bed. She cooed and fussed over him, eliciting a smile and a tired giggle from the baby. "There's my lad," she murmured, wiping away the last of the peas from his cheeks. "I almost couldn't see you for the peas! You had so many peas on you!" She kissed his chubby cheeks and cuddled him close as they went upstairs.

A few minutes later, Charlie was in his crib and snoring softly, and Elsie was on her way down to collect Meggie. The little girl was sound asleep on her father's shoulder, a streak of confectioner's sugar on her cheek and raspberry jam in the corner of her mouth. "I take it the cake was a success," Elsie quipped wryly.

"I should say so," Charles replied with a small smile. "I'll take her up –"

"Are you sure?" Elsie murmured. "I can do it and you can enjoy your cake."

"Does this mean you two have finally come to your senses?" Margaret inquired. "And will stop avoiding each other all of the time?"

"Yes," Charles said simply. "We have… come to our senses."

The way he said it made Elsie feel warm – and not from the fire in the grate, either. "Let me take her," she said, feeling more flustered than anything, shifting Meggie to her shoulder and retreating quickly upstairs. She wiped down her lass and got the exhausted child into her nightgown and onto her pallet at the foot of Margaret's bed. She covered the girl with the blanket she had knit when she'd realized she was pregnant, and smiled softly before she brushed Meggie's unruly curls out of her face. "Mam loves you verra much, little love," she whispered, giving her a kiss.

With that, she turned down the oil lamp and left her bairns to sleep. Charles met her in the hallway with a small smile on his lips. "Hello," he said softly, taking her hands in his. "Do you want some cake?"

"Is there any left?" she teased. "I know your sweet tooth and our Meggie seems to have inherited it –"

He had the grace to look chagrinned. "There is only a little bit left – it was a small cake," he defended.

"I'd rather have a cup of tea," she murmured.

"I'll go get it then," he said, releasing her and hurrying off.

She hurried through her nightly ablutions and was rolling her black cotton stockings down her legs when Charles came back in with two sturdy earthenware mugs of steaming hot tea. Her nightdress was up well over her knees when he came in, giving him a perfect view. She stopped stock still, hoping she wasn't spooking him off – it wasn't time for her courses, so she didn't feel obligated to wear her drawers and dark calico nightdress to bed.

His eyes darkened with lust and he inhaled deeply, then murmured, "Elsie…"

"I did try to hurry," she replied, blushing a little as she resumed tugging at her second stocking. "Your mam must've had water on to boil."

He handed her the second cup and said, "I'm sorry I've been a prat."

"We both have," she murmured, taking a sip of her tea. "I take it you want to celebrate your birthday… rather more intimately than with cake and children." She raised an eyebrow but never quite met his gaze.

"Elsie, I've wanted nothing more these past few months than to just… have you. Whenever the mood struck. But I can't do that –"

"Because you don't want to hurt me," she interjected with a dismissive huff. "But how do you think it makes me feel when you don't want me? When you push me away?"

"I want you," he grunted. "I want you like a dying man wants to live."

"Then bloody well do something about it," she countered.

It was uneasy; their kisses were timid, sloppy, not at all in sync. He was anxious and she was testy; she got snappish when he treated her like she was fragile and would break in his hands. His arousal was intense, hers was nowhere near his, and he was fumbling at trying to please her.

She pulled back out of his arms and murmured, "Charlie, I am not going to leave you. I'm far too stubborn to die. Please stop holding me at arm's length."

"Elsie, I don't know how to –"

"Remember our first night together?" she whispered. "Just like that, love. You were afraid I would leave then, that I wouldn't stay the night with you –"

"All I wanted was you," he murmured, kissing her gently, nipping at her lower lip. "I'd never… felt so strongly."

She moaned softly and moved his hand lower down her body, from her waist to her thigh. "I was afraid that giving in to you made me no better than me mam," she confessed. "I didn't know if I should run toward you or away from you." Their kisses were stronger now, more intense, more fulfilling, and his fingers moved over her skin with more conviction, less doubt.

It was a slow road, but they came through together. She fell forward onto his chest, flushed and trembling from the force of her climax as his chest heaved with the effort of breathing after his own insane climb to ecstasy. She giggled nervously and whispered, "Love, I think we've gone far past running away now."

"If you run away from me," he rumbled, "I will hunt you down and carry you over my shoulder like a sack of flour. And then I'll use your hair ribbons and tie you to the bedposts."

She smiled and kissed his chest. "I love you," she whispered.

He held her like that for a long time until she shifted and rolled onto her side. He adjusted, spooning her tightly and keeping her warm. "I love you," he breathed against her neck, and she felt his hot tears as they began to fall.

"I'm nae goin' anywhere," she promised. "I'm nae leavin' you, Charlie." It was breaking her heart to know that he was so absolutely terrified of losing her that he was coming a bit unhinged.

His tears finally quieted and she surmised he had fallen asleep from the soft snoring behind her. She soothingly rubbed his arms where they rested on her abdomen and thought hard about his fragile state. She loved him, yes, adored him even, but she did not feel overwhelming panic at the mere thought of losing him. Maybe because she knew that she could juggle the children and work and in the end, life would be made easier by a fluke act of inheritance. But if their positions were reversed… he was a father, but he did not know how to properly clean or tuck down a bed nor change a nappy. He did not know how best to bring down a fever or to –

She started to cry then, softly, so as not to disturb his much-needed rest.

She promised herself that she would never dismiss his anxieties out of hand again. And she was determined that he should know at least how to take care of their children's basic needs – just in case.


	14. Chapter 14

So, it's been a while. Work has been heinous and then I had a trip to NYC, and more excuses. Anyway, here's a crappy chapter.

* * *

XIV:

* * *

"Shallow breaths," Elsie murmured, rubbing Cora's back. "That's it, easy, easy," she soothed. "You're doing very well, m'lady."

Cora glared at her and grunted, "You choose now to be humble?"

Elsie chuckled and replied, "I cannae very well call you Cora with your mother-in-law hovering outside the door, now, can I?"

"How much longer?" Cora asked weakly, leaning into her maid.

"A fair ways, yet," Elsie murmured. "Your little one is being stubborn."

"That does not bode well for the future," Cora moaned, inhaling sharply as the next pain gripped her.

"Breathe, m'lady," Elsie instructed brusquely, going back to work on Cora's cramping back. "It will all be over soon enough and you'll forget the pain and trouble once you've held your bairn," she assured Cora.

Once she had relaxed a little, Cora panted, "How… how on earth did you do this?"

"Not verra well, I'm afraid," Elsie admitted. "Meggie was too quick to be born and Charlie…" She bit her lip, drifting into silence. "Well, we know how that went."

"Was it worth it?" Cora whimpered.

"Worth every moment of pain," Elsie promised.

"How long is it going to take?" Cora asked.

"As long as your wee'un decides it's going to take," Elsie said. "Baby Crawley is being stubborn."

Cora scowled. "I'm not at all pleased with that answer."

Elsie smiled and said, "Unfortunately, m'lady, it's the only one I can give. You're close to ready, but not quite there."

"I hope it's a boy so I never have to do this again," Cora ground out bitterly. "My god, how do people manage to have so many children and –"

Elsie sighed. "Many people love one another verra much," she said softly. "And they dinnae know that there are other ways to find pleasure with your lover." She blushed a bit and then murmured, "We've been rather careful. So I don't… get in the family way again."

"I'm praying this is a boy," Cora confessed, her normal bravery all but gone. "So I can at least tell Robert off when he wants to… It's been hours and hours already," she complained in a weak tone. "Shouldn't I push or something?"

"I cannae see the head," Elsie said. "Once we see the bairn's wee head, then you might."

She didn't want to tell Cora that, yes, they had been in this horrible holding pattern for nearly fifteen hours already, with no sign of baby's head, and the pain growing steadily worse for Cora as the contractions overlapped. She gave Cora a gentle kiss on the temple, then murmured, "I need to go check and see they've called for the doctor. I'll be right back."

Charles was waiting outside, pacing. "Any –"

"Send a lad for the doctor," Elsie said very quietly. "I think the baby is stuck in an awkward position and I dinnae think I can manage this m'sel'."

"You're very pale, love –"

"Never you mind about me," she huffed. "It's Lady Cora we should be minding now."

"Yes, well, I think –"

"Charlie, stop," Elsie warned. "I need you to get the doctor. Now. She's getting weaker by the moment and I'll not be the cause of her death because I cannae do anything for her. Do you understand me, love?"

He nodded, then retreated. Elsie went back into the bedroom, regarding Cora's nearly white face as she labored away to no avail. "Charlie's gone running for the doctor," she said softly.

"I need to push," Cora panted.

"You're going to tire yoursel' and hurt the bairn if you do," Elsie warned gently.

"I. Don't. Care," Cora ground out between clenched teeth.

"Thankfully, I do care," Elsie snapped.

"Are you certain there's no head?" Cora whimpered.

Elsie sighed and went to check her lady's progress. She blinked, not quite reconciling what she was seeing with what she knew of birth. "There's no head, m'lady," she said softly, "but I do see a wee foot?"

"A foot?"

"Aye, a wee foot – baby must be comin' all sorts of ways," Elsie sighed. "All the more reason to get the doctor –"

"Ohhh, I hope it's not the new doctor," Cora whimpered. "I can barely understand him –"

"He's from Edinburgh," Elsie scoffed. "If ye can understand me an' no' him, I'll eat me hat." She sighed and settled in. "Now, ye cannae push, Cora. Not till we've a doctor to see it's all right."

"You're going to end up with a baby in your lap in a minute," Cora warned, her voice strained.

The door was flung open a few minutes later as Cora let out an ear-splitting shriek of pain. "Mrs. Carson, I hear tell that Lady Cora is –"

"We've got feet," Elsie said brusquely. "Plural. Not a head. And if she doesnae begin pushing soon, she's going to be too tired to do the job, Dr. Clarkson." She was not about to suffer foolish inanity a moment longer than necessary.

He rolled up his sleeves and took her place. "Baby Crawley is quite contrary," was his only comment during his initial examination. "M'lady, Mrs. Carson is going to help you brace yourself, and then I need you to push as if your very life depends upon it."

"Doctor?" Elsie said, raising an eyebrow as she took a position behind Cora, supporting her.

"Sooner rather than later," he said gruffly.

She inhaled sharply, knowing it was worse than she had feared. There were innumerable problems that could accompany a breech birth, but they were rare enough she'd never had experience with one. "Yes," she agreed. "Cora, you mustn't let up. Not at all, not even as tired as you feel. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Cora panted, already bearing down. "I understand if I don't get this baby out right now, he or she isn't coming out at all."

The minutes passed with very little progress, until Clarkson said, "Yes, just like that – like that, a little more, m'lady. Careful, careful…" There was an odd noise like a suction pop, then he was lifting a small baby up by the feet and slapping it on the buttocks.

The baby was blue.

Elsie felt Cora slump in exhaustion, and finally a squawking cry of rage filled the air. "There, lass, there ye are," Elsie whispered. "Hard work, but worth every minute –"

"Lady Cora, you have a very small, but healthy, daughter," Clarkson said.

"A daughter?" Cora echoed. "Robert will be so disappointed –"

"You've been through hell and back and you're afraid he'll be disappointed?" Elsie said. "He'll be thrilled that you pulled through at all." She stifled her automatic reaction toward misery at the thought that Robert and Ida should have been on their second child by now. "He won't mind that it's a bonny wee lass like yoursel'."

Clarkson finished wiping down the baby and swaddled her in a blanket before he presented her to Cora. "I must say, there is definitely a resemblance, m'lady," he teased.

Cora let out a snort of laughter at the sight of her daughter's full head of jet black, very thick hair. "Oh dear," she sighed. "My poor darling."

Elsie took a moment to breathe, suddenly feeling a rush of weariness that washed over her like a blanket. "I'm going to leave you and little miss with the doctor for a moment," she said softly. "I'll just be outside."

Charles was waiting in the corridor, along with Robert, both sitting on chairs that had been appropriated from god only knew where. Both men hopped to their feet as she emerged into the hallway. "Is she all right?" Robert asked, his face a twisted mask of panic.

"Yes," Elsie murmured. "Your wife and daughter are both well."

Robert immediately turned to Charles. "Do you hear that, Carson? Cora has come through it very well – and I have a daughter."

"Yes, m'lord," Charles said gravely. He came over and took Elsie's elbow, propelling her toward his chair. "You must be absolutely shattered, Elsie," he said. "You look like you were about to keel over."

"I do admit I feel a bit unsteady," Elsie confessed.

"You'll be right as rain in a moment," Robert said, pressing a glass of whiskey into her hands. "To the health of my wife and daughter –"

Elsie took a sip of the drink, then covered her mouth to keep from retching. "I need to –"

"Elsie?"

"I need to lie down," she said very softly. "I dinnae feel very well."

"Oh god," Charles choked out, "are you with child?"

She stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Are ye daft? No! I am not pregnant. I'm bloody tired as the day is long because I've been up with Cora for over forty-eight hours straight! Why do you think I'm automatically with child because I'm nauseated and tired beyond reason?" She rubbed her forehead wearily and sighed. "I need to sleep as much as Cora does."

"Carson, you and Mrs. Carson must take the rest of the day – go home and be with your children and each other," Robert said firmly. "I must somehow show my appreciation to you both for your efforts the last few days –"

"Let me tell Cora," Elsie said. "Then we'll go."

She went back into the bedroom in a kind of a haze, said a few words, and left again. Charles led her downstairs and out of the house, down the road, and to his mother's cottage. It was all Elsie could do later to recall anything of that day after getting to the cottage.

When she finally awoke, there were two sleeping children in bed with her and Charles, and he was snoring – which might have brought a smug smile to her lips. Wee Charlie was right up against her, seeking comfort from his mum even in sleep, while Meggie was butted up against her father's chest, a little bit of drool escaping her mouth as she breathed deeply.

Charlie startled and started to cry; Elsie immediately pulled him closer and began to sing softly to him in Gaelic the old lullabies of her childhood. When she looked up, Charles was watching her tiredly, a smile on his lips.

"I have never loved you more than right now," he rumbled, his voice raspy and thick with sleep.

"Shh, you'll wake Meggie," Elsie scolded softly.

"Lord and Lady Grantham sent a bottle of wine to you," he said softly, trying to keep his voice down. "To say thank you for helping to bring Mary into the world."

"They're calling her Mary then?" Elsie murmured.

"Lady Cora is insisting, apparently, after both you and Dr. Clarkson called the baby 'contrary'."

"Well, if one wants to arrive in the world feet first and flaunting all convention, how else should you be called but Mistress Mary, quite contrary?" Elsie said with a tired smile. Her stomach rumbled and she sighed. "I suppose I should eat something –"

"Dinner is in an hour," Charles said. "You've slept the day away, and our little ones wanted a nap with their mummy."

"I wish that I never had to be parted from them," she whispered, pressing a kiss into her son's soft hair. "If money was no object, I would stop working right this moment and just stay here with our wee'uns."

"You have an inheritance you can call on –"

"No, don't even think it," she huffed, reaching over to thread her fingers with his, holding his hand tightly. "We will go on just as we have. I was being maudlin. And I know it has to be an awful strain for your mam to take care of two wee sprats."

"She loves every moment of it," Charles said. "She never thought she would be a grandmother, not after… things happened."

Elsie squeezed his hand. "I never in my life thought that I would find a man who would want to marry me and have a family with me."

His cheeks flushed. "I, ah, that is, well… To be honest? I saw you and the rational portion of my brain ran the other direction. I've rather been led by my trousers."

"I'm glad you have been," she declared.

"That is a very inelegant thing to say."

She shrugged. "I'm your wife – I think I am entitled to not give a fig how elegant I sound when I say how much I love you." Her smile returned, teasing and soft. "And I do love you, Charlie Carson. To the stars and back."

"More than all the tea in China," he whispered back.

"Oh, aye," she agreed.

"You kissin'?" Meggie mumbled sleepily.

"No, dear heart," Charles said with a gentle chuckle. This time, he squeezed Elsie's hand.

They didn't need to kiss or make love in order to show one another just how deeply their affections ran. It just was. It was a thing that existed, as easy and loving as anything. And they both knew exactly how lucky they were.


	15. Chapter 15

Hey look, I wrote stuff.

* * *

XV:

* * *

Illness hit Downton hard that winter. First, a round of influenza laid much of the village low. Secondly, diptheria raged through unchecked. Scarlet fever was fast on its heels, followed by measles, then German measles. Elsie managed to only catch the flu, and a mild case of it, but Charles caught both the flu and the German measles. The children managed to catch everything. Even little Mary had her share of disease over the course of winter, so it was no surprise to hear that Lord Grantham had developed pneumonia.

What did surprise was that, since he was rather a healthy man, he had succumbed to fluid in his chest cavity overnight. Charles was almost ready and able to go back to work, but the announcement from the Abbey made him fall back into bed and, inexplicably, give in to feeling 'not quite up to snuff' for another couple of days.

Elsie, caring and dutiful, ran herself ragged between Crawley House and the cottage, trying to hold everything together. It was no surprise, then, that she began to feel unwell again. She collapsed into bed next to Charles and mumbled, "The funeral is tomorrow, but I don't think either of us will be in any shape to go."

"Seems an odd business this winter illness," Charles sighed. "It's been one thing after another –"

"Cholera has broken out again in London," Elsie sighed. "And typhoid fever."

"You would think we would be past such things –"

"Our poor wee'uns have been so ill," she pointed out. "It's far worse for the children because they've no way to fight such things." She reached over and held his hand. "I feel rather unwell, to be honest."

"Howso?" Charles asked, his tone carefully modulated to hide his worry, though it crept in around the edges.

"I'm feeling a bit like I did when I first caught the flu – a bit sick to my stomach, very tired, a touch achy. Even tea's turning my tummy sour," she sighed. "I'd rather not give it to Cora – she's got enough to worry about now she's expecting again."

"That's… very soon, isn't it?"

"It's been six months," Elsie pointed out. "The doctor lets husbands back in after four weeks."

"Yes, well, it seems… soon."

She patted his arm soothingly. "You're just jealous," she teased.

"Why on earth would I be jealous and begrudge his Lordship his happiness?" Charles grumbled.

"Don't tell me you don't long for another little one," Elsie sighed softly, "because I would be lying if I didn't feel the same way."

"But it would be risking your life –"

"Some risks carry great reward," she murmured. "Now hush and let me nap before the room starts whirling again." She hummed softly as he pulled her close and tucked her up against him like a pillow, positioning her head right below his chin.

By dinner time, she was feeling much worse – less tired, but far more nauseated. She wasn't feverish, but Charles had to hold the washing bowl beneath her chin five or six times as night dragged on. When she was retching bile and specks of blood, he said, "I think… I should go fetch the doctor."

"He'll give me laudanum and quinine," she mumbled.

"Elsie," he began, but she cut him off.

"It will be a waste of money."

"It's my money to waste," Charles said firmly. "Let me fetch the doctor, if only for my peace of mind."

"Oh, fine," she huffed.

She was unsurprised to see Clarkson was who Charles towed home; the younger Scotsman seemed to be the one not so often called upon, since he was 'new' and everyone in the village distrusted 'new' and 'modern'. "Mrs. Carson, your husband says you feel unwell," Clarkson began, taking off his jacket, leaving him scandalously in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He rolled up his sleeves and leaned over the bed.

"I'm aching all over like I've been lashed," Elsie sighed, "and I cannae keep down a morsel of food. The last time I vomited, there were bits of blood."

The doctor tsked, taking her pulse while looking at his pocket watch. "You aren't feverish and you don't seem to have the symptomology of the latest illnesses racing round the county. Are you, by chance, with child?"

Elsie paused to consider the question, then bit her lip. "We have been taking as many precautions as possible," she said, her cheeks flushing. "But no precaution is infallible."

"So there is a chance –"

"More than a chance," she admitted. "Until we both took ill, we were… very intimate."

"And that's been three months, give or take?"

"Something like."

"Now, I know from your history that you've been told that carrying another bairn could do you immeasurable harm, including death of yourself and the infant in question –"

"Which is why we've been careful," Elsie sighed.

The doctor examined her quickly and carefully, then exhaled. "You are definitely pregnant, Mrs. Carson – closer to four months if I might hazard a guess based on your size and the color of… well, never you mind that."

"Well," Elsie murmured, "this… is not such a glad tiding."

"My recommendation would be resignation of your duties to Lady Grantham and immediate bed rest," Clarkson said. "You should not be on your feet, and you definitely shouldnae be climbing staircases at the Abbey."

Elsie sighed. "Yes, I suppose you are right," she agreed, albeit grudgingly. "How we will manage, I don't know, but we will manage –"

"I have some throat drops that should soothe your esophagus, and prevent the bleeding when you vomit," Clarkson said. "And candied ginger will help with the nausea, but you already knew that, having had two children before now."

Elsie cleared her throat. "Can you… not tell my husband? I need to find a way to tell him myself – he will be rather upset, and I shouldn't like to put you in the middle, Doctor."

Clarkson sighed. "And if he asks me what is the matter?"

"Just tell him it's the flu again. Or something. Anything. Just dinnae tell him I'm increasin'."

Clarkson scowled at her. "You will be restricted to bed beginning now," he said firmly. "You may get out of bed to use the watercloset, but that is all. You cannot carry anything over five pounds – including your children. Is that understood?"

Elsie paused, then nodded meekly. "Yes," she said very softly. "I understand, doctor."

"Your life, as well as the life of your unborn bairn, will depend on it," he said firmly.

"I do understand," she said.

"I will visit every few days to check in." He donned his jacket again and said, "I know this is not the best news you could have had, but congratulations nonetheless."

As soon as the doctor had left, Charles was knocking hesitantly. "Love?"

Elsie's heart was in her throat. "Come in," she said softly. She felt sick, but differently from before: this time, she knew it to be nerves.

"Is it flu again?" he asked. "Need I run for –"

"It isn't the flu," she said, trying not to blush or betray herself in any other physical way. "Charlie… we need to talk. About things we might not want to talk about – like how we will manage for the next few months on one salary."

He blinked, stopped stock still. "Elsie?"

"Because I'm confined to bed for the foreseeable future." She took a deep breath, then exhaled in a rush, "I'm pregnant and the doctor thinks everything might just be well if I stop working and stay abed and not lift anything heavier than a fork or a book until the end of it."

He crossed to the bed, unceremoniously plopping onto it in what appeared to be shock. "We were so careful – how could –"

"We were careful," she agreed, "but nothing is foolproof, remember? And there was our anniversary and other times we just… didn't think. Because we'd had too much wine." She blushed to remember one such night, when they'd shared the remnants of the dinner wine at Robert and Cora's insistence – nigh unto a full bottle, practically. It had been a good night, full of laughter and sweet moments she treasured… and lovemaking that was burned onto her soul with its intensity. "But anyway, what is done is done, and now we must live with the consequences." She smiled a little, reaching over to touch his back. "Charlie… it will work out. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Elsie."

"I fully intend to follow Dr. Clarkson's orders," Elsie said firmly. "And I'm tougher than I look. I've done it before, haven't I?"

"You almost died."

She shrugged. "I'm more worried about leaving Cora to fend for herself. I suppose I can write my father for money if we need it – seeing as how I'm the heiress and haven't ever capitalized on my future gain." She sighed. "Charlie, look at me – please."

"I can't."

"Don't shut me out, Charlie."

"I'm so ashamed of myself right this moment –"

"Why on earth – what have you got to be ashamed of?"

"I've gotten you pregnant again and –"

"Charles Carson, there is no shame in that – we love one another. There is no shame at all in how much we love one another. This wee'un – all of our bairns – is here because we love one another so completely. There is no shame in this – we are married, and unless you plan on divorcing me and shaming us both, I will never cease to want you in my bed… in as many ways as god will allow. You are my husband and I am your wife: there is no shame in this, Charlie. None at all." Her hand stilled on his back, feeling him shake. "Oh, love… my darling man, dinnae cry."

"I can't lose you," he choked out, his voice raspy.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, meaning every word. "I'm not leaving you, Charlie. You know I'm far too stubborn for that." She rubbed his back comfortingly. "I'm going to stay in bed for a few months and at the end of it, we'll have a healthy lad or lass to show for it."

"No more babies after that," he promised. "I'll sleep elsewhere –"

"Like hell you will," she swore bitterly. "I'll not be a wife to you in name only, Charles. We are in this together, and together we will be till the very end."

"You can't know that…"

"Oh, I can and I do," she snapped. "Unless you do something stupid, I fully intend to die within moments of you – when we're both old and grey and bedridden old poops. I intend to lead a full life, Charlie – and so should you."

"I feel so guilty –"

"Oh, stop it. There isnae anythin' to feel guilty about. It takes two to make a bairn, obviously. It is not your fault, and neither is it mine. Now… do you want another wee lad? Or another wee lass?"

"I just want you to come through it all right," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "And for our baby to be healthy and strong. I don't care if it is a boy or a girl."

"You're such a good da," Elsie murmured, feeling him begin to relax beneath her hand. "You love our wee'uns so verra much."

"If I lost you, I wouldn't know where to begin," he whispered.

"You would get up in the morning and have a cup of tea and some breakfast, and then you'd feed our Meggie and Charlie, and dress them and send them off to school," she assured him. "But I'm not going anywhere, remember? I'm chained to this bed for the next few months."

He let out a hoarse bark of laughter. "I guess that's so…"

"Aye, tis," she agreed. "Now, will you look at me for a moment?" He turned slowly, and she smiled. "That's better! You know, I'm a bit excited now it's sunken in. We'll have three instead of two – and they'll all be the best of friends, our lads and lasses."

Charles smiled a little. "You're not upset?"

"I was a bit at first, but not any longer. I'm not about to be burdened by regret and sadness when there's so much life to live." Elsie smiled and leaned back onto her pile of pillows. "And so much love to be had."

* * *

Cora laid back against the pile of pillows on Charles's portion of the bed and sighed. "I miss you," she complained to Elsie. "Being a great lady of the county is so trying with no one to talk to."

"You replaced me," Elsie pointed out, her hands splayed over her large belly. "You can talk to your maid –"

"She's a terrible gossip," Cora sighed, idly rubbing her belly as well. "And everything has been so boring the last few months – we're in mourning, so no one is allowed any fun at all. Not even Mary. Do you know how depressing full mourning is?"

Elsie nodded and shifted slightly in the bed. Her back had been throbbing all day, and she'd been keeping track of the spiking pains, knowing that her time was probably coming sooner rather than later. "I do," she murmured. "Cora? How soon until your confinement?"

Cora at least had the sense to look slightly guilty. "I'm meant to be confined now – it officially started yesterday."

Elsie flinched. "Oh."

"I couldn't stand just being locked away in that room any longer," Cora sighed. "Goodness only knows how I'll manage the next month of it."

Elsie laughed. "I've been sat here the better part of five months," she pointed out. "I'm so sick of these four walls I might scream. And Margaret only lets the children come up for a couple of hours, so I'm alone most of the time. I hate it," she sighed. "I want to get out of bed and see the world again."

"Soon," Cora promised.

Elsie heard a small noise, then felt wetness course down her legs into her nightdress and the linens. "Oh… oh god. Cora? Soon might be sooner than you think," she said in a bit of a panic now that everything was beginning. "I… someone needs to get Dr. Clarkson."

Time floated by in a haze. Elsie knew pain and suffering and then, suddenly, blessed relief. She opened her eyes and looked around the hospital ward, wondering what the hell had happened – and why she was in so much pain. "Mrs. Carson, you're awake," a nurse said quickly. "Let me get the doctor."

Clarkson was in the room quick as you please, and he leaned in to check her pupils, then her pulse. "Mrs. Carson, how much do you remember?"

"I was with Lady Grantham, and my waters broke," Elsie croaked.

"That was a week ago," Clarkson said. "We had to perform a caesarian section and a total hysterectomy. Your daughters were small but fully-formed and healthy. You have been unconscious since the surgery, due to a minor infection and sedation so your body could begin to heal – are you in any pain?"

"Quite a lot," Elsie rasped, "but I'm made of stern stuff. I'll be fine."

"Nurse, please give Mrs. Carson a dose of morphine – there is no need for her to be in pain right now. She needs to heal."

"I'll be fine," Elise protested, waving him away weakly. "You said… my daughters? More than one?"

"You were carrying twins," Clarkson said, "which posed issues we'd not discussed. The bairns were very small, but they are healthy and your husband has hired a woman to help –"

"Oh," Elsie said dully.

"Seeing as how you're meant to stay in hospital and recover for the next eight weeks," Clarkson finished. "No arguments."

"I cannae pay for –"

"Your bill has been paid," Clarkson said. "In advance."

"I wish my father wouldn't interfere –"

"It was the Dowager Lady Grantham," Clarkson interjected. "Just so you don't lay the burden on someone else's feet." He eyed her and said, "Mr. Carson should be along soon to check on you; he's been a thorn in my side for days. And then we have to practically throw him out when visiting time is over."

"Silly man," Elsie sighed. "As if I weren't going to keep my promise."

"What promise?"

"I told him I'd not leave him," Elsie huffed. "I meant it. I dinnae intend to go first; he'll go before me and I'll be right behind him. Just as I always will." She picked at the blanket and sighed. "I'm not going to die for a long time yet."

"That's an excellent notion to hear," Charles said from the doorway, his voice a warm rumble of comfort. "I do admit to being quite afraid of the contrarywise the last few days…"

"I did promise," she reminded him. "It's just a wee spot of bother. I'll be right as rain soon." She patted the bed and murmured, "Now come and tell me about our family – what trouble have our Meggie and Charlie stirred up since I've been in hospital?"

"Not much," he said, coming to sit at her bedside. He took her hand between his and held tight. "But I've something to tell you, and it's… difficult."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Well, dinnae leave me hangin' ou' tae dry, Charlie."

He exhaled then, a low, harsh sound. "There was an accident. Mum tucked Meggie and Charlie into bed the night the twins were born, and she was going back down the stairs… Dr. Clarkson thinks she slipped. Regardless… she hit her head on the way down and was… gone… when I got there. Meggie hasn't spoken since, and Charlie just wants to know where you and Grammy are." He squeezed her hand tighter, his lips pressed together in a tight white line. "I don't know what we're going to do, Elsie. I buried her, but it's taken all of our savings to hire a nurse for the twins and to bury mum in the churchyard. I don't know how we're going to pay for your stay here –"

Elsie felt tears choking her, but she remained calm for his sake. "It will be all right," she whispered. "Everything will come right in the end."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – not when you can't do anything at all to help –"

"I can listen," she said. "And I can make suggestions."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Charlie, you shouldn't be apologizin' for summat whitain't your fault – how many times must I tell ye?" she sighed. "I'm so sorry about yer mam. I am; she was… such a wonderful person." The tears began to choke her again, and she looked away, trying to hide them from him. He didn't need her to be hysterical and upset, not now. He needed her to be strong, even in her weakened state.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered.

"You take every day as it comes," she murmured. "I'll be fine – you worry about our wee'uns. You make certain they're fed and cared for until I can come home. Just like we've always agreed. If ye need to, I'm sure Cora will let you take Meggie and Charlie to the Downton nursery – especially since they've brought on a junior nanny for the new baby. It will work itself right in the end; I promise."

"She loved you like her own," he said.

"I know," she murmured. "And she was just as much a mam as me own."

"They'll take the cottage back," he said. "It was only for her lifetime, and now it's over and –"

"Then you'll tender your resignation and we'll go to the farm," she declared firmly. "We have options, Charlie. Not many, but a few. It will be all right."

"I can't farm," he reminded her.

"Then you'll learn."

"I can't think straight – there's too much happening."

"Aye, I know," she whispered. "Have you slept?"

"Who has time to sleep? My head no sooner hits the pillow than the babies are crying."

"Come here," she whispered, indicating for him to lay his head down at her side. "Close your eyes and rest, love. I'm no' goin' anywhere… and you're not either." It only took a few minutes of gently massaging his head before he was sound asleep. She let him be, closing her eyes and drifting off as well.

* * *

Two months sped by before Elsie even knew what had happened. Her visitors were very few, being restricted by Dr. Clarkson in order to contain the risks of infection and to prevent her from reopening her surgical wounds. Her knowledge of what was occurring outside the walls of the hospital was gleaned from Charles and Mrs. Patmore, the new cook at the Abbey, who was constantly bringing letters from Lady Grantham and picnic baskets of food that served as fodder for the nurses on the ward. Mrs. Patmore was starched and looked down her nose at Elsie; a lady's maid gone to seed, how dare Her Ladyship maintain such a friendship.

Elsie, for what it was worth, took it in stride – the woman knew no better, and she wouldn't enlighten her. That part of her life was over now, and she would delight in being able to return home and caring for her wee family again.

She knew that the new baby at the Abbey was a little girl called Edith, and that she was giving the nursery a run for its money – she was kicking up with colic, apparently, and was screaming at all hours of the day and night, setting Mary off as well. For what it was worth, Charles reported that their twins were doing very well and only cried when they needed their nappies changed or when they were hungry. A small blessing, considering everything, but Elsie was glad to take it nonetheless.

With no small effort, Elsie managed to get dressed by herself – which was Dr. Clarkson's last hurdle that she must overcome in order to go home. The last two days had been a scene of frustration, determination, and much swearing and tantrum throwing as she had attempted to get her clothes and shoes on with no assistance. She stood unsteadily, waiting for Charles to arrive, already worn out from her efforts.

"What on earth are you doing out of bed?" he asked, eyes wide as he stepped into the room. "Elsie –"

"With Dr. Clarkson's blessing, I'm ready to go home," Elsie said softly. "Don't look at me like that, Charlie – it's been eight weeks and I'm mostly healed."

"You're certain you're ready?" he asked worriedly.

She nodded and smiled. "I've done everything I've been asked to do – including dress m'sel'," she said proudly. "I'm ready to go home and see my bairns."

Charles nodded slowly. "Elsie, I –"

Her smile faltered. "You don't want me to come home," she said very quietly.

"No, god, no – I just worry that you'll be overwhelmed and – I can't wait to have you home again, love. I really can't."

Clarkson breezed in and smiled. "I see you've gotten yourself ready to be discharged, Mrs. Carson – Mr. Carson, your wife has stubbornly done everything I've asked of her, and more. She is in excellent health, even if her muscle tone is diminished from bedrest. A few good weeks of caring for the children and doing housework will set that right in no time at all."

Elsie forced a smile. "Yes," she agreed quietly, refusing to look at Charles, knowing he had questions of his own – mainly about conjugal matters, which he had brought up a few days before, and she'd not had answers to. "Dr. Clarkson, will we be able to… eh, well… perform our… well, marital relations – can we or –" Her face was beet red and she was stammering, her words a staccato pitch, almost keening.

"What Elsie means is…" Charles was remarkably calm. "We enjoy one another's company in the married way, and I shouldn't like to be the cause of any more pain for her."

"Slow and gentle," Clarkson said. "No penetration for another month, but the French way is fine."

Elsie choked back her embarrassment and croaked, "Thank you. Doctor, I – oh, I can never look you in the eye again."

"Mrs. Carson, with as much love and affection your husband holds for you, I would have been very surprised had the question not been brought up," Clarkson said with a smile. "I am pleased that there is such a happy couple in the village – there are many others who are not."

Elsie blushed again, then nodded. "We are happy," she murmured. Charles took her arm in a gallant manner and patted her hand where it rested delicately on his forearm. "Aren't we, love?"

"I have never loved and will never love another human being as much as I love my wife," Charles rumbled. "And now, with your blessing, doctor, I would like to escort Mrs. Carson home."

"Go on," Clarkson said with a smile. "If you experience anything abnormal, Mrs. Carson, anything at all, please don't hesitate to come straight back to the hospital."

"Yes, doctor," Elsie agreed.

The walk back to the cottage was longer than she remembered, and they had to stop several times along the way so she could rest. Charles watched her with worry etched into his features, but she was determined and they eventually made their way home. She was breathless and exhausted when they reached the front gate, and it was all she could do to stay upright. "Charlie, I cannae," she panted. "My legs feel like rubber."

No sooner had the words left her lips than she was in his arms and he was carrying her inside. It was quiet in the little cottage – too quiet. Meggie and Charlie must still have been at the Abbey. An indignant squawking noise came from upstairs, followed by a woman's voice as she spoke to the upset baby. "Is that…?" Elsie murmured as Charles set her down on the chair by the fire.

"That would be our little Fiona," he said, helping her get situated. "Flora almost never protests when her nappy is changed."

Elsie smiled. "Can I meet them?" she asked softly. "I feel like I've already missed so much –"

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "Are you comfortable? I'll run up and tell Mrs. Lorne that you're home and ready to see our girls –"

It seemed like an eternity, but only a couple of minutes passed before Charles was back downstairs with a wee bundle in his arms. "Mrs. Lorne is cleaning our Flora up a bit, as she had a bit of a tummy upset," Charles said, "but this lovely lassie is our Fiona." He kissed the baby on the nose, then passed her over to Elsie.

The eyes that looked up at her were an intense shade of golden hazel, almost firey in its intensity, and a sprinkle of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks already. Her hair was so dark it was almost black, but when the firelight caught it, Elsie could see that it was really the darkest auburn imaginable. Her cheeks were chubby and she had Elsie's nose – thank heavens for small favors. Elsie smiled down at the bewildered baby and murmured, "Hello, my darling little girl. Aren't you so beautiful? Yes, aren't you lovely?"

The baby started to fuss, and Charles swooped in. Fiona immediately quieted, looking over his shoulder at her mother with all the distrust a baby could muster. "It'll take some getting used to for them," Charles said softly.

Mrs. Lorne, a plump nursemaid from the village who had actually nursed Charlie long ago, came down the stairs with Flora in her arms. "I'm ever so glad to see you so well, Mrs. Carson," she said with a warm smile. "And your daughters are wonderful little girls." She handed Flora over.

Flora looked almost exactly like her sister, aside from one of her eyes was that intense hazel color, and the other was blue, with a small dart in the pupil. Elsie held her daughter close, and the baby looked up at her expectantly. "Hello, lass," Elsie murmured. Flora squeaked, and Fiona paid closer attention, startled by her sister's noise. "Do you – do you know mammy's voice?" Elsie asked. The baby in her arms flailed her arms about and squeaked again. "Oh, love, you don't know how happy that makes me – mammy loves you and Fiona so much – so so much." Tears were streaming down Elsie's cheeks, tears of happiness.

"I'm going to go to the Abbey and get Meggie and Charlie," Charles said softly. "It's about dinnertime for our little lasses, so Mrs. Lorne will have to nurse them."

"Oh, aye," Elsie sighed with sudden sadness. "I'm sorry I cannae do it –"

"No, Mrs. Carson, it's all right," Mrs. Lorne said with a smile. "Your girls are no trouble at all – and Mr. Carson takes good care of Miss Meggie and Master Charlie. I've got a meat pie in the oven for teatime and some fresh bread for toast."

"Thank you," Elsie said softly, turning her attention back to Flora, who was burbling excitedly as only a baby could do. Fiona started to fuss, and Mrs. Lorne attempted to quiet her – to no avail. Elsie looked up and said, "Maybe bring her here?"

Mrs. Lorne brought the other baby over and gently maneuvered her into Elsie's other arm. "She's a stubborn one, Fiona is – always thinks she knows best, this one."

Elsie chuckled. "I don't know where she could possibly get that from," she murmured innocently, looking down at her youngest children. "Now, you two need to behave," she said in a gently firm tone. "Mammy can hold ye both, but she cannae play games yet – and she cannae feed ye."

Both babies were content to just stare up at her. Flora kept wrinkling her nose and making happy noises, where Fiona was much more reserved, concern etched into her features. Absolutely full marks for guessing which child took after her father. The door swung open and Charles said, "Shh, don't disturb your sisters."

Little Charlie ran over to Elsie and leaned on her knees. "Hullo, mam," he greeted with an enormous smile. "Hullo, Fwowa and Fiomona! You're wakey!"

"Yes, they're awake," Elsie agreed with a smile. "How are you, lad?"

"Tired," the little boy confessed breathlessly. "We pwayed and pwayed and pwayed aww day!"

"That sounds lovely," Elsie murmured. "Where's Meggie, love?"

"Da had'ta cawwy hew – she owwied her knee, mam," Charlie said gravely.

"Oh no, did she fall down?" Elsie sighed, looking up as Charlie brought Meggie into the room. The little girl's stockings were torn and blood marred her right knee. Meggie was chewing nervously on her thumb, watching Elsie with wide eyes. "Hello, love," Elsie murmured. Meggie made a noise and kicked her feet for Charles to let her down. She immediately rushed over and buried her face in Elsie's arm, shaking from sobs as she clung to her mam.

"She's missed you very much," Charles said.

"And I've missed my little lass," Elsie cooed, unable even to return Meggie's emotional welcome due to the presence of Fiona and Flora in her arms. "Charlie, will you take the babies? I know two very good children who need cuddles right this moment – because their mammy has missed them so much."

Charles took the babies and smiled as Charlie and Meggie immediately scrambled into their mother's arms and refused to let go. "I don't think I've ever been so happy," he said softly. "Except the day you accepted my proposal."

"Not our wedding?" she teased softly.

He shook his head. "That was not a good day," he reminded her. "But this… this is a wonderful day."

* * *

Life settled into a semi-predictable pattern while Elsie was recovering and regaining her strength. Every morning, Charles would get up at four, ready himself, then wake Charlie and Meggie at five on the nose. He would get them ready for the day, feed them buttered toast and jam with milky tea for breakfast, then they would walk the half mile to the Abbey. Elsie would wake up naturally at six – if they hadn't already woken her – and she would help Mrs. Lorne with the babies, and start baking bread and making luncheon and tea at appropriate hours. Since they weren't entertaining at the Abbey due to Cora's recovery from her latest pregnancy, Charles brought the children home at a respectable four o'clock for a brief tea before he went back to work. He usually got home about ten and had a quick bath and a small glass of wine before retiring to bed with Elsie.

It was a quiet, ordered existence, and Elsie was glad of it.

Until the day the cable came, saying that her father had died.

And everything changed forever.


End file.
